“Well, Trip, I don’t see what we shall do for a house,” said he, when he returned to the landing-place. “There is, certainly, no cave here. What shall we do, Trip?”
The dog wagged his tail, and barked, as though he understood the question; but he did not mention any way to overcome the difficulty. Instead of trying to help his master to a plan, he leaped upon the raft, and seated himself on the box.
I dare say this was Trip’s notion of their next move,—that Robert should get upon the raft, and make his way home as fast as he could.
“We won’t do any thing of the sort, Trip. Do you think I’m going home again? No, sir. I’m Robinson Crusoe, Jr.”
“Bow, wow,” replied Trip; which, being interpreted, undoubtedly meant, “Do come along, master. Let us go home.”
“No, you don’t,” said Robert. “Wouldn’t the fellows laugh at me if they should find me coming back now! I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Trip. We can take the boards in the raft and use them to build a house. That is just the idea. We won’t stop to think about it, either, but go to work, and do the job at once, for we want the house to sleep in to-night.”
Robert then carried the box and the various articles with which the raft was loaded to the shore, and placed them near the spot where he intended to build his house.
This was just the kind of work that pleased Robert, and he was as much excited as though he were going to Europe, or to do some other great thing. Throwing off his coat, he seized the hatchet and went to work with a zeal that promised soon to give him a house.
The raft was torn in pieces, and the boards and timbers of which it was made carried to the site of the new dwelling. Robert had hardly finished this part of the job, before a thought struck him.
At the most, his stock of food would not last him more than two or three days; and in his survey of the island he had seen neither grapes nor berries, upon which he had expected to live when the crackers and gingerbread were all gone.