"Ah," said the skipper, with a sigh, "you have been saying that for
three years, and the sails that come go again and care nothing for
us. I am beginning to believe we are to stay here for the rest of our
lives, and that I am to be the first one to take the long, last sleep
that awaits us all."

CHAPTER XXV

AN ARRIVAL

When Captain Bergen was inclined to become pessimistic, the mate
treated it lightly, for he feared the strong sailor would break before
long from sheer homesickness.

It was fortunate that neither had any family, the mate being one of
those who are without any close living relative, while the captain had
a sister in New England, and his aged mother was in San Francisco,
living with a nephew, of whom she was very fond.

Thus the three years passed away, and the second era in their lives
approached. There was something curious in the fact that all the
inhabitants of the lonely Pearl Island had lost their reckoning. No
two could agree on the day of the week, and when they compromised on
one, which was called Sunday, and observed as such, they were much in
doubt whether they were right, and, as it afterward proved, they were
not.

One afternoon, when the sun had hardly passed the meridian, the mate
and captain were stretched upon the beach under the shade of a
palm-tree, and looking out upon the sea, over which they had come to
this desolate spot so long before. The day was cooler than usual, and
a steady breeze blew, rendering the position of the friends in that
respect as pleasant as they could wish, though their weary, homesick
feeling was telling upon them. Both the ragged sailors were thinner,
and there was a yearning, far-away look in their eyes, especially in
those of the captain, which presaged the approach of insanity or death
at no distant day, unless a change were made in their condition and
surroundings. This lamentable state was partly due, no doubt, to the
diet to which they had been subjected for many months.

Inez, who seemed happy everywhere and at all times, was busying
herself in the cabin, where she could find plenty to do; and ever and
anon the sound of her voice could be heard, as she sang some snatch of
song, which came through the mist of memory from her infancy.

"I tell you what it is," said Captain Bergen, in his low, determined
voice, "this thing cannot continue much longer."

"You are no more weary of it than I, Jack; but show me the way in
which it can be e