Farrell and I didn't build a house in
a tree, because we didn't need to; and we didn't ride on emus,
because we didn't want to, and moreover there weren't any. But we
did pretty well there for two years, Roddy: and could say as
Gonzalo--was it Gonzalo?--said of another island, that here was
everything advantageous to life. And we found the means to live,
too.
"I may say that I took the role of Mrs. Beeton: hunted for fruits,
fished, told Farrell (of my small botanical knowledge) what to eat,
drink, and avoid, and attended to the high cuisine. Farrell,
reverting to his old journeyman skill, sawed planks and knocked up a
hut. When one hut became intolerable for the pair of us--for in all
that time we never ceased hating--he knocked up a second and better
one for my habitation. He was my hewer of wood and drawer of water.
Also it was he who--since I professed no eagerness to get away--did
the conventional thing that castaways do: erected a flag-staff, and
hauled piles of brushwood up to the topmost lip of our volcano, for a
bonfire to be lit if any ship should be sighted, lest it might pass
in the night.
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