e admitted primarily to gratify David, who was very soft-hearted and
knew that while he was on the island they must be missing him very much
at home. So we let them in, and there was no part of the story he liked
better than that which told of the joyous meeting. We were in need of
another woman at any rate, someone more romantic looking than Irene, and
Mary, I can assure her now, had a busy time of it. She was constantly
being carried off by cannibals, and David became quite an adept at
plucking her from the very pot itself and springing from cliff to cliff
with his lovely burden in his arms. There was seldom a Saturday in which
David did not kill his man.

I shall now provide the proof that David believed it all to be as true
as true. It was told me by Oliver, who had it from our hero himself. I
had described to them how the savages had tattooed David's father, and
Oliver informed me that one night shortly afterward David was discovered
softly lifting the blankets off his father's legs to have a look at the
birds and reptiles etched thereon.

Thus many months passed with no word of Pilkington, and you may be
asking where he was all this time. Ah, my friends, he was very busy
fishing, though I was as yet unaware of his existence. Most suddenly I
heard the whirr of his hated reel, as he struck a fish. I remember that
grim day with painful vividness, it was a wet day, indeed I think it has
rained for me more or less ever since. As soon as they joined me I saw
from the manner of the two boys that they had something to communicate.
Oliver nudged David and retired a few paces, whereupon David said to me
solemnly,

"Oliver is going to Pilkington's."

I immediately perceived that it was some school, but so little did I
understand the import of David's remark that I called out jocularly, "I
hope he won't swish you, Oliver."

Evidently I had pained both of them, for they exchanged glances and
retired for consultation behind a tree, whence David returned to say
with emphasis,

"He has two jackets and two shirts and two knickerbockers, all real
ones."

"Well done, Oliver!" said I, but it was the wrong thing again, and once
more they disappeared behind the tree. Evidently they decided that the
time for plain speaking was come, for now David announced bluntly:

"He wants you not to call him Oliver any longer."

"What shall I call him?"

"Bailey."

"But why?"

"He's going to Pilkington's. And he can't play with us an