wouldn't have gone on standing it more than a few years and then where should we have been? Lucky business for us Smiths that you came when you did. But I don't know how we're going to like mixing in the world on equal terms with our neighbors, some of us. I shall enjoy seeing Bertie. . . . But as to poor old mamma!" He pursed up his lips in a soundless whistle. "If we ever get her there," he added.

"Thinks she's Queen Victoria, y'know. That's what poor mamma thinks. If she gets to England she'll want to go straight to the Palace. And she'll find Queen Victoria's dead-you said so, didn't you, and no wonder-and a king on the throne, and herself nothing but a humble old lady rather queer in the head and thirsty in the mouth. Then there'll be a rumpus. Mamma settle down as a humble old lady? I don't think! She's been Miss Smith" (he bowed his head) "of Smith Island too long for that, and she don't mean to climb down without making trouble." He chuckled.

"Perhaps," suggested Mr. Thinkwell, "she can console herself by writing her memoirs, which every one will want to read."

"Oh, Lord, she's written 'em. Kept a journal all these years, mamma has. Till a few years ago, anyhow. I can show it you if you'd care."

"Indeed I should, very much.

managed for writing materials?"

But how has she

"Oh, we have something we use for writing-a dark liquid we get from the cuttlefish. And we write on bark, you know. But I believe mamma began her journal on the blank edges of some Latin book she had, or that my father had, and between the lines of print. I will ask her if I may show it you this afternoon, with the other books. By the way, you must all dine with me at three."

Mr. Thinkwell noted that the island still maintained early Victorian hours.

They collected their things from the Typee and rowed back. Mr. Thinkwell then arranged his plans with Captain Paul. The Typee, after completing its trading cruise among the other islands, was to call again at Orphan Island for the Thinkwells (and possibly a few others, if any cared to be of the party) and take them away. At the first possible opportunity suitable transport would be sent to the island. Meanwhile, not a word must be said during the voyage of its existence. Captain Paul and Mr. Merton must take all precautions that the crew did not divulge the secret. Mr. Thinkwell was averse from notoriety if it could at all be avoided. As secrecy at this stage fell in with the trade plans of both Captain Paul and Mr. Merton, they readily made the necessary promises.

They then somewhat reluctantly tore themselves away from the pleasures of the island-Captain Paul especially enjoying its female society and Mr. Merton its drinks and departed from its shores, undertaking to be back within about ten days.

The Thinkwells then accompanied Mr. Denis Smith to his estate some way back up the hill, and here they sat down to a large and delightful dinner, to which they did ample justice, for, owing to the unusual lateness of the hour, they were sharp-set, except Rosamond, who had, one way or another, managed to eat a good deal during the morning. She had gathered, during her walk before church, a great variety of luscious fruits, some of which she had eaten on the hill, some during the sermon, and the rest afterwards on the shore. She particularly liked the mango and the bread-fruit, both of which were, when ripe in the sun, round and golden and warm and very filling.

wouldn't have gone on standing it more than a few years and then where should we have been? Lucky business for us Smiths that you came when you did. But I don't know how we're going to like mixing in the world on equal terms with our neighbors, some of us. I shall enjoy seeing Bertie. . . . But as to poor old mamma!" He pursed up his lips in a soundless whistle. "If we ever get her there," he added.

"Thinks she's Queen Victoria, y'know. That's what poor mamma thinks. If she gets to England she'll want to go straight to the Palace. And she'll find Queen Victoria's dead-you said so, didn't you, and no wonder-and a king on the throne, and herself nothing but a humble old lady rather queer in the head and thirsty in the mouth. Then there'll be a rumpus. Mamma settle down as a humble old lady? I don't think! She's been Miss Smith" (he bowed his head) "of Smith Island too long for that, and she don't mean to climb down without making trouble." He chuckled.

"Perhaps," suggested Mr. Thinkwell, "she can console herself by writing her memoirs, which every one will want to read."

"Oh, Lord, she's written 'em. Kept a journal all these years, mamma has. Till a few years ago, anyhow. I can show it you if you'd care."

"Indeed I should, very much. But how has she managed for writing materials?"

"Oh, we have something we use for writing-a dark liquid we get from the cuttlefish. And we write on bark, you know. But I believe mamma began her journal on the blank edges of some Latin book she had, or that my father had, and between the lines of print. I will ask her if I may show it you this afternoon, with the other books. By the way, you must all dine with me at three."

Mr. Thinkwell noted that the island still maintained early Victorian hours.

They collected their things from the Typee and rowed back. Mr. Thinkwell then arranged his plans with Captain Paul. The Typee, after completing its trading cruise among the other islands, was to call again at Orphan Island for the Thinkwells (and possibly a few others, if any cared to be of the party) and take them away. At the first possible opportunity suitable transport would be sent to the island. Meanwhile, not a word must be said during the voyage of its existence. Captain Paul and Mr. Merton must take all precautions that the crew did not divulge the secret. Mr. Thinkwell was averse from notoriety if it could at all be avoided. As secrecy at this stage fell in with the trade plans of both Captain Paul and Mr. Merton, they readily made the necessary promises.

They then somewhat reluctantly tore themselves away from the pleasures of the island-Captain Paul especially enjoying its female society and Mr. Merton its drinks and departed from its shores, undertaking to be back within about ten days.

The Thinkwells then accompanied Mr. Denis Smith to his estate some way back up the hill, and here they sat down to a large and delightful dinner, to which they did ample justice, for, owing to the unusual lateness of the hour, they were sharp-set, except Rosamond, who had, one way or another, managed to eat a good deal during the morning. She had gathered, during her walk before church, a great variety of luscious fruits, some of which she had eaten on the hill, some during the sermon, and the rest afterwards on the shore. She particularly liked the mango and the bread-fruit, both of which were, when ripe in the sun, round and golden and warm and very filling.

CHAPTER XIV

THE JOURNAL

I

DURING dinner, Mr. Denis Smith, who was a widower with married children, entertained the Thinkwells very well with his conversation and anecdotes of island life, and afterwards he offered to conduct Mr. Thinkwell to Balmoral, where he would have access to the island books. The young people said they would like to explore the island.

"You must do it quietly, mind," said their host. "We're very particular about Sunday here, as perhaps you've noticed. No games allowed. I dare say you'll pick up some one to show you round."

The Thinkwells said they would prefer not to trouble any one, but would like to explore for themselves. So they set off up the wooded hill, William with his butterfly-net and field glasses, Rosamond with her bathing dress, for this Sunday had not so far panned out so well as she had intended with regard to bathing and she felt that this must be remedied.

Mr. Thinkwell and Mr. Denis Smith arrived at Balmoral, and the latter, going within for a short time, reappeared with four tattered volumes bound together with string, together with a bundle of sheets of thin bark.

"Our library," he said; "including mamma's jour nal, which she has consented to your reading. Now, where will you read?"

Mr. Thinkwell selected a shady corner of the woods,