oy!" Boreland assented with a cheerfulness that did not
escape being forced. "But just now we'll get busy making camp for the
night."

Two tents were pitched in the rice-grass at the edge of the beach. On
a foundation of stones was set the small rectangular sheet-iron stove
that every gold-trail in Alaska knows. Within the hour the shiny new
pipe was carrying a gay plume of smoke, and with the cheery crackling
of the flames, the spirits of everyone rose; for the adventurer may
wander where he will, but when he builds a fire--whether it be of
coconut husks on the rim of a South Sea atoll, or of drift-wood on the
beach of a northern sea, there comes a sense of home and comfort.

Boreland, unpacking what he called the "grub-box," volunteered to get
supper for the hungry band while they went in search of more driftwood
for the fire. Leaving him busy with the frying-pan they headed
northward toward the long sand-spit that pointed like an accusing
finger in the direction of the mainland ninety miles away. Above the
high-tide line the sand dunes were as powdery blue with lupine as the
April fields of California, and Loll's whooping investigation revealed
patches of wild strawberries larger than those found at Katleean, where
acres of them grow on the low sand hills along the sea.

Jean and Lollie lay flat on their stomachs filling their mouths and
grass-lined hats. The bouquet of sun-warmed strawberries and the
perfume of flowering lupine were wafted across the dunes in
intermittent gusts of fragrance. Ellen almost forgot her anxiety as
she picked the red-toned fruit and listened to the drawling voice of
Kayak Bill describing a cordial he had once made from the berries--a
liqueur so subtle in its effects, so delicious and so warming that it
had melted even the heart of a revenue officer sent up from Sitka
especially to investigate him.

Later when they returned to the tents with lupine-laden arms and hats
full of berries, there was in the air the good camp smell of
frying-bacon, warmed-over brown beans and bubbling coffee. Boreland,
apparently in the best of spirits, was setting out the dishes on a
clean piece of canvas spread on the sand.

"Get a move on, gang!" he called. "Come and get it! My stomach's
fairly cleaving to my backbone!"

As the adventurers ate, the sun, going down on the other side of the
island, tinted the sky with shades of wild rose and forget-me-not. A
cluster of tiny golden clouds float