, and this time
it was no pirate craft.

He roused himself from his dreaming state and shook his head, but the
vision did not depart. The ship was coming and it was for him to receive
it. The news of it had been written too deeply upon the sensitive plate
of his brain to be effaced, and, as he walked back toward the house, it
seemed to grow more vivid. He was too much excited to study that day,
and he spent the time building a great heap of wood upon the beach. Even
if one were helped by good spirits he must do his own part. They might
bring the ship to the horizon's rim, but it was for him to summon it
from there, and he would have a great bonfire ready.

The brilliance of the day departed in the afternoon, and it became
apparent that the season of rain and storm was not yet over. Clouds
marched up in grim battalions from the south and west, rain came in
swift puffs and then in long, heavy showers, the sea heaved, breaking
into great waves and the surf dashed fiercely on the sharp teeth of the
rocks.

Robert's spirits fell. This was not the way in which a rescuing ship
should come, under a somber sky and before driving winds. Perhaps he had
read the voices of the spirits wrong, or at least the ship, instead of
coming now, was coming at some later time, a month or two months away
maybe. He watched through the rest of the afternoon, hoping that the
clouds would leave, but they only thickened, and, long before the time
of sunset, it was almost as dark as night. He was compelled to remain in
the shelter of the house, and, in a state of deep depression, he ate his
supper without appetite.

The storm was one of the fiercest he had seen while on the island. The
rain drove in sheets, beating upon the walls and roof of the house like
hail, and the wind kept up a continuous whistling and screaming. All the
while the house trembled over him. Nor was there any human voice in the
wind. The good spirits, if such existed, would not dare the storm, but
had retreated to cover. All the illusion was gone, he was just a lonely
boy on a lonely island, listening to the wrath of a hurricane, a ship
might or might not come, most probably never, or if it did it would be
another pirate.

The storm did not seem to abate as the evening went on, perhaps it was
the climax of the season. Tired of hearing its noise he lay down on his
couch and at last fell asleep. He was awakened from slumber by an impact
upon the drum of his ear like a light b