e rock, or at least on soil so shallow that the root was half above
ground and at right angles to the stem. He got this tree up, shortened
the stem, shaped the root, shod the point with some of his late old iron;
and with this primitive tool, and a thick stake baked at the point, he
opened the ground to receive twelve stout uprights, and he drove them
with a tremendous mallet made upon what might be called the compendious
or Hazelian method; it was a section of a hard tree with a thick shoot
growing out of it, which shoot, being shortened, served for the handle.
By these arts he at last saw a goal to his labors. Animal food, oil,
pitch, ink, paper, were still wanting; but fish were abundant, and
plantains and cocoanuts stored. Above all, Helen's hut was now
weather-tight. Stout horizontal bars were let into the trees, and, being
bound to the uprights, they mutually supported each other; smaller
horizontal bars at intervals kept the prickly ramparts from being driven
in by a sudden gust. The canvas walls were removed and the nails stored
in a pigeon-hole, and a stout network substituted, to which huge plantain
leaves were cunningly fastened with plantain thread. The roof was double:
first, that extraordinary mass of spiked leaves which the four trees
threw out, then several feet under that the huge piece of matting the
pair had made. This was strengthened by double strips of canvas at the
edges and in the center, and by single strips in other parts. A great
many cords and strings made of that wonderful grass were sewn to the
canvas-strengthened edges, and so it was fastened to the trees and
fastened to the horizontal bars.

When this work drew close to its completion, Hazel could not disguise his
satisfaction.

But he very soon had the mortification of seeing that she for whom it was
all done did not share his complacency. A change took place in her; she
often let her work fall, and brooded. She spoke sometimes sharply to Mr.
Hazel, and sometimes with strained civility. She wandered away from him
and from his labors for her comfort, and passed hours at Telegraph Point,
eying the illimitable ocean. She was a riddle. All sweetness at times,
but at others irritable, moody, and scarce mistress of herself. Hazel was
sorry and perplexed, and often expressed a fear she was ill. The answer
was always in the negative. He did not press her, but worked on for her,
hoping the mood would pass. And so it would, no doubt, if the cause