ly!" she repeated excitedly.

He enjoyed her enthusiasm. It was the first time he had seen her smile,
and it looked good to him. He chuckled to himself as he said:

"But that isn't all. A pot with nothing to put in it isn't much use.
I've brought you something good to eat."

Plunging his hand into the pot he brought out half a dozen live crabs
and threw them at her feet.

"Aren't they beauties?" he exclaimed. "I'll bet they'll taste dandy,
too. Look out! Mind they don't nip your fingers with their claws.
They're pretty lively. They bite like the mischief."

Grace's mouth was already watering:

"What shall I do with them?" she asked helplessly.

"Cook 'em, of course," he replied, with a grin. "You get them ready
while I go and fetch some water."

She listened in consternation, not liking to tell him she did not know
how to cook. His women, of course, could work and do everything to help
themselves. They could sew and make their own dresses. She felt ashamed
of her own uselessness and was about to make confession when he hurried
away. As he ran he turned and called out:

"You'd better take a shell and see if you can scrape off some of that
rust inside the pot."

He disappeared, leaving her looking in dismay, first at the iron pot and
then at the crabs, already striving to regain their liberty. She had not
the slightest idea what to do. Her only knowledge of crabs was when
their tender, white, flakelike meat was served in chafing-dish with
delicious sherry sauce. How to accomplish the operation of transforming
those crawling, dangerous-looking things into a toothsome dish she had
not the slightest notion. Even if she did know, how could she touch the
nasty things when they were raising their nippers so menacingly and
already trying to scud away in the direction of their native habitat,
the sea. The most she could do was to run after each wriggling deserter
and with her foot turn him over on his back. As to the other order she
had received--that was easy. She could scrape the pot with a shell.
That was easy enough. Yet if she were busy on the pot the crabs would
profit by it to slip away, and then they would have no supper at all. It
was certainly a problem worthy of the Sphinx.

She was still trying to solve it when Armitage reappeared. In one hand
he carried a gigantic cocoanut filled to the brim with sparkling, fresh
water; with the other he was dragging along the sand a huge plant of
unfamiliar aspect.

"