Far below me a
sizable stream here showed itself through the tropical vegetation as
it hurried down to a hidden cove. The wide ocean spread southward to
my right. Of how far the island might stretch beyond the taller and
more distant cone I could make no guess.
"A desire for sleep came upon me, and I stretched myself in the shade
of a bush under the lee of the ridge. After an hour's nap I rose and
descended again to the beach.
"Farrell sat by the fire, cooking breakfast, the dog watching him.
There was no coffin, nor any sign of a grave, and the tide was
making. He had made haste to bury Santa during my absence. . . .
He said not a word about it, and I did not question him. But he had
played me this trick. Henceforth I felt no further pity."
"You may remember my saying, Roddy, when I first started to tell you
about Santa, that it was impossible for me to hate Farrell worse than
I did. Well, I thought so at the time. But now on the island I was
to find myself mistaken, and this trick of his set me off hating him
in a new and quite different way.
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