lute ignorance of the time of
day, but he cared, if possible, still less for that. Food, he knew, was
necessary to his existence, but the thought gave him no anxiety. In
short, John and his dog were in a state of quiescent felicity, and would
probably have remained so for some hours to come, had not the setting
sun shone forth at that moment with a farewell gleam so intense, that it
appeared to set the world of clouds overhead on fire, converting them
into hills and dales, and towering domes and walls and battlements of
molten glass and gold. Even to the wearied seaman's sleepy vision the
splendour of the scene became so fascinating, that he shook off his
lethargy, and raised himself on one elbow.

"Why, Cuffy!" he exclaimed, to the yawning dog, "seems to me that the
heavens is a-fire! Hope it won't come on dirty weather before you an' I
get up somethin' in the shape o' a hut. That minds me, doggie," he
added, glancing slowly round him, "that we must look after prokoorin' of
our supper. I do believe we've bin an' slep away a whole day! Well,
well, it don't much matter, seein' that we hain't got no dooty for to
do--no trick at the wheel, no greasin' the masts--wust of all, no
splicin' the main brace, and no grub."

This latter remark appeared to reach the understanding of the dog, for
it uttered a melancholy howl as it gazed into its master's eyes.

"Ah, Cuffy!" continued the sailor with a sigh, "you've good reason to
yowl, for the half of a rotten fish ain't enough for a dog o' your
appetite. Come, let's see if we can't find somethin' more to our
tastes."

Saying this the man rose, stretched himself, yawned, looked helplessly
round for a few seconds, and then, with a cheery "Hallo! Cuff, come
along, my hearty," went down to the beach in quest of food.

In this search he was not unsuccessful, for the beach abounded with
shell-fish of various kinds; but Jarwin ate sparingly of these, having
been impressed, in former years, by some stories which he had heard of
shipwrecked sailors having been poisoned by shell-fish. For the same
reason he administered a moderate supply to Cuffy, telling him that "it
warn't safe wittles, an' that if they was to be pisoned, it was as well
to be pisoned in moderation." The dog, however, did not appear to agree
with its master on this point, for it went picking up little tit-bits
here and there, and selfishly ignoring the "share-and-share-alike"
compact, until it became stuffed