at just
like a woman?--They won't never play the game."

CHAPTER XXXV

IN WHICH I FIND TWO ESTIMABLE FRIENDS, BUT LOSE ONE BELOVED

The weather now, moderating, after the fashion of weather on this
coast, as rapidly as it had become inclement, we passed a more
comfortable night on our desert island. No doubt the lighthouse tender
knew of our presence, for he easily could see our tent by day and our
fire by night, and he surely must have seen our good ship riding at
anchor under his nose at the edge of the channel; but no visit came
from that official--for the very good reason, as we later learned,
that the storm had stove in his boat at her mooring; so that all he
himself could do was to cross his Cajun bosom and pray that his supply
skiff might come from across the bay. So, as much alone as the Swiss
family by name of Robinson--an odd name for a Swiss family, it always
seemed to me--we remained on our desert island undisturbed, the ladies
now in the comfortable tent, my hardy pirates under the tarpaulin, and
the rest of us as we liked or might, all in beds of the sweet scented
grasses which grew along the lagoon where the great ranks of wild
fowl kept up their chatter day and night.

It was a land of plenty, and any but a man in my situation might well
have been content there for many days. Content was not in my own soul.
I was up by dawn and busy about the boats, before any sign of life was
visible around the tent or the canvas shelter. But since the sun rose
warm, it yet was early when we met at John's breakfast fire. I felt
myself a shabby figure, for in my haste I had forgotten my razors; and
by now my clothing was sadly soiled and stained, even the most famous
of the Davidson waistcoats being the worse for the salt-water
immersions it had known; and my ancient flannels were corkscrewing
about my limbs. But as for Helena, young and vital, she discarded her
sweater for breakfast, and appeared as she had before the shipwreck,
in lace bridge coat and wearing many gems! L'Olonnois, with the
intimacy of kin and the admiration of youth--and with youth's lack of
tact--saluted her now gaily. "Gee! Auntie," said he, at table on the
sand, "togged out that way, all them glitterin' gems, you shore look
fit for a pirate's bride!"

Poor Helena! She blushed red to the hair; and I fear I did no better
myself. "Jimmy!" reproved Aunt Lucinda.

"Don't call me 'Jimmy'!" rejoined that hopeful. "My name is
L'Olonnois, th