e potatoes out
into a heap on the other side, and spreading them to cool.

"Let 'em be, sir, till we've charged the oven again," cried Ned, and the
fight now was harder than ever as they began to throw the fresh batch
into the hot pit. But it was done, and the sand swept over them. The
glowing embers followed, the wood was piled on, to begin crackling and
blazing, and then, and then only, did they fall to.

Only a meal of little hot roasted potatoes, without butter, pepper, or
salt, but no banquet of the choicest luxuries could have tasted half so
good. They were done to a turn, and though very small, of the most
desirable flavour, and satisfying to a degree.

"Try another, sir, try another," Ned kept on saying; but Jack needed no
urging, and as he sat there eating one after another, the sun seemed to
be less hot, the place around more beautiful, the shore less distant,
and the possibility of their reaching the yacht that night more and more
of a certainty. But that certainty began to grow into doubt when, well
satisfied by their meal, the pair lay back to rest a little before
making a fresh start.

"Must give the second batch time to get well done, sir, and to cool a
bit, before we toddle, and then we ought to be on the look-out for
water. A good drink wouldn't come amiss."

"No," replied Jack slowly; "but hadn't we better get some more wood to
put on? The fire's getting very low."

"No, sir, it's just right. There's a good heap of embers now, and by
the time the wood's all burned the potatoes will be about done. Think
any one planted them here first?"

"I should say they were planted by the captain who left the pigs."

"Then I say he ought to have a monument, sir, for it was the finest
thing he ever did in his life--much finer than anything I shall ever do.
My, how different everything looks after you've had a good feed!"

Jack made no reply to that, but said, a minute or so later--

"Think the savages have seen our fire, Ned?"

There was no reply.

"'Sleep, Ned?" said Jack, looking toward him.

There was still no reply.

"Poor fellow! Let him rest a bit," thought the boy; and then he began
to think of what news it would be when he got back to the yacht, to
announce that the arm was restored. The yacht brought up the thought of
sailing right away over the blue waters, gliding easily on, with the
warm sun upon his cheek and the soft breeze fanning his brows, and Jack
Meadows went on sailing a