The Rat Hunt

They had dinner at noon. Paddy knew how to cook fish, island fashion, wrapping them in leaves, and baking them in a hole in the ground in which a fire had previously been lit. They had fish and taro root baked, and green cocoa-nuts; and after dinner Mr Button filled a big shell with rum, and lit his pipe.

The rum had been good originally, and age had improved it. Used as he was to the appalling balloon juice sold in the drinking dens of the "Barbary coast" at San Francisco, or the public-houses of the docks, this stuff was nectar.

Joviality radiated from him: it was infectious. The children felt that some happy influence had fallen upon their friend. Usually after dinner he was drowsy and "wishful to be quiet." To-day he told them stories of the sea, and sang them songs--chantys: "I'm a flyin' fish sailor come back from Hong Kong, Yeo ho! blow the man down.

Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down, Oh, give us TIME to blow the man down.

You're a dirty black-baller come back from New York, Yeo ho! blow the man down, Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down.

Oh, give us time to blow the man down."

"Oh, give us TIME to blow the man down!" echoed Dick and Emmeline.

Up above, in the trees, the bright-eyed birds were watching them--such a happy party. They had all the appearance of picnickers, and the song echoed amongst the cocoa-nut trees, and the wind carried it over the lagoon to where the sea-gulls were wheeling and screaming, and the foam was thundering on the reef.