. . .
"I held my ascent, still beside the downward-pouring stream, and on
my way noted fruit-bearing trees in plenty. I reached a point where
the volcanic hill ran down landward in rounded ridges, and crossed
two or three of these: but no sign of human habitation could I
discern.
"When I descended again to the beach, with the lap of my jumper full
of limes and wild grapes, it was to find the dog stretched beside a
sizable fire and Farrell busy nailing together some lengths of long
timber. I had heard the sound of his hammer from half-way down the
slope.
"'Good Lord, man!' said I, staring. For he had pulled in the boat
and sawn almost the whole of the port-side out of her. 'You have cut
us off now, whatever happens!'
"'You don't imagine,' said he, 'that I'd ever set foot in that
blasted boat again?'
"What is more, he had cut a couple of cloths out of the sail, for a
winding-sheet. . . . But the pot was near to boiling; and after we
had supped on the crayfish and the fruit, he fell to work again,
nailing together a rough coffin. He explained that he had served his
time in quite a humble way before embarking in business, on borrowed
capital, as a tradesman.
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