g the leeward coast of Malaita, the _Ariel_ worked her
leisurely way, threading the colour-riotous lagoon that lay between the
shore-reefs and outer-reefs, daring passages so narrow and coral-patched
that Captain Winters averred each day added a thousand grey hairs to his
head, and dropping anchor off every walled inlet of the outer reef and
every mangrove swamp of the mainland that looked promising of cannibal
life. For Harley and Villa Kennan were in no hurry. So long as the way
was interesting, they dared not how long it proved from anywhere to
anywhere.

During this time Jerry learned a new name for himself--or, rather, an
entire series of names for himself. This was because of an aversion on
Harley Kennan's part against renaming a named thing.

"A name he must have had," he argued to Villa. "Haggin must have named
him before he sailed on the _Arangi_. Therefore, nameless he must be
until we get back to Tulagi and find out his real name."

"What's in a name?" Villa had begun to tease.

"Everything," her husband retorted. "Think of yourself, shipwrecked,
called by your rescuers 'Mrs. Riggs,' or 'Mademoiselle de Maupin,' or
just plain 'Topsy.' And think of me being called 'Benedict Arnold,' or '
Judas,' or . . . or . . . 'Haman.' No, keep him nameless, until we find
out his original name."

"Must call him something," she objected. "Can't think of him without
thinking something."

"Then call him many names, but never the same name twice. Call him 'Dog'
to-day, and 'Mister Dog' to-morrow, and the next day something else."

So it was, more by tone and emphasis and context of situation than by
anything else, that Jerry came hazily to identify himself with names such
as: Dog, Mister Dog, Adventurer, Strong Useful One, Sing Song Silly,
Noname, and Quivering Love-Heart. These were a few of the many names
lavished on him by Villa. Harley, in turn, addressed him as: Man-Dog,
Incorruptible One, Brass Tacks, Then Some, Sin of Gold, South Sea Satrap,
Nimrod, Young Nick, and Lion-Slayer. In brief, the man and woman
competed with each other to name him most without naming him ever the
same. And Jerry, less by sound and syllable than by what of their hearts
vibrated in their throats, soon learned to know himself by any name they
chose to address to him. He no longer thought of himself as Jerry, but,
instead, as any sound that sounded nice or was love-sounded.

His great disappointment (if "disappointment" may