es of coral and
basalt, though they are great helps, do not form a patent prize
kitchener; and though the result was very tempting to hungry men, there
was a want of perfection in the browning of that bird. In fact here and
there it was a bit burned, notably in its right leg--the one Billy's
companion held--and that leg was so horribly charred that when the man
hauled it snapped off like a burned stick, and the bird, by the recoil
and drag, came right into Billy's lap.

"What are you up to now?" cried the latter. "Well, you are a chap,
playing your larks when we're so hungry! Don't you want none?"

As he spoke, he worked his knife to and fro, and ended by making a
division of the bird that could hardly be called a fair one.

"Look at that," he said. "You've got first pick, as I'm carver; and
though I feels a deal o' respect for you, matey, I don't think as how as
you'd pick out the smallest bit, and hang me if I would, so here goes
for another try."

Billy made another cut at the bird, hewing off a good slice of the plump
breast, which he laid on to the smaller side, giving it a flap with his
blade to make it stick, and then passed it over.

"There," he said, "that's fair; so here goes to begin. Hullo, matey,
won't you bite?" he continued to the dog. "There, then, you can amoose
yourself with them till your betters is done."

He hacked off the bird's head and neck; and after slicing off a portion
of the meat, added the drumstick to Bruff's share. He then began eating
voraciously, giving his messmates a version of their "adventers," as he
called them, since the morning.

Billy would have made a splendid writer of fiction--a most exciting
narrator, for he forgot nothing, and he added thereto in a wonderful
manner. He threw in, with his mouth full, touches of description that
made his companion stare, and his eloquence about the blackened hull of
the vessel was wonderful.

"Talk about charkle fires," he cried; "why, if my old mother was here
she'd nail the lot and save it, to use up the fruit off some of these
here trees and make jam."

"Why, you can't make jam out of a burnt ship," said the stowaway.

"Who ever said you could, Davy Jimpny?" cried Billy. "But you wants
charkle to make it with, don't yer?"

"Yes, if you can't get coke," said the stowaway sadly.

"Well, I aren't seen no gasworks on those here shores nowheres, and so
you can't get no coke, can you?"

"Course not."

"Well, then, char