It was some time after this that Robinson and Friday chanced to be on the high hill at the east end of the island. The day was cloudless and very clear, with a light breeze rippling the water, just such a day as that on which, years ago, Robinson had seen land, far over the sea. Friday gazed long in that direction, and then began to jump and dance, pointing to the dim blue coast. ‘There my country! See! There my people live!’ he said, his eyes sparkling with joy, and an eager light on his face.
After this, for a time Robinson was not easy in his mind about Friday. He had little doubt that if he could get back to his tribe, he would soon forget all he had been taught, all that Robinson had done for him, might even return, perhaps, with a hundred or two of his friends, and kill and eat his master. But in this Robinson was very unjust to Friday, who had no such thoughts in his mind as those of which he was suspected.
And this Robinson soon found out. One day, as they walked up the same hill, he asked if Friday would not be glad to be once more in his own land.
‘Yes,’ said Friday; ‘very glad.’
‘Would you eat men’s flesh again?’
‘No, never,’ said Friday, shaking his head very much.
Then Robinson asked why he did not go back. It was too far to swim, said Friday. Robinson said he would give him a boat, and Friday said, very well, he would go if Robinson came too.
‘But your people will eat me,’ said Robinson.
‘No, no,’ Friday answered; ‘you good to me. They good to you.’
Robinson had then more than half a mind to go, for if he could join the other white men, he thought there would be a better chance to build a boat big enough to sail in to England.