"I dropped our luncheon, I suppose.... I hope to do better, later on, when I get more used to conditions." She was mortified to think he had been thus promptly obliged to carry her "home" in his arms.
"You are doing fairly well," he said, in his off-hand manner. "We shall soon be all right. It's a fine and tight little island."
Her one idea was to get away as soon as possible.
"Shouldn't we put up a flag, or something, in case a steamer should happen to be passing?"
"As soon as I can cut a long bamboo. I must have both tools and fire as promptly as possible."
"You must be hungry," she remarked, arising rather weakly and going to the end of her cave, where all the water that remained in the half of the paw-paw shell had been carefully stored, in Grenville's absence. Then, emerging with her burden, she added, "I meant to have your luncheon ready, but we have almost nothing left."
"All that you gathered was left by the tiger," he answered, cheerfully. "The beast prefers more solid diet." Once more descending the trail, he presently returned with the fruits that had fallen from her arms.
They ate, as before, in the shade of her cave, for the sun on the rocks was becoming hot.
"The wall this afternoon," said Grenville, as he finally concluded his simple repast with a drink of tepid water. "Then our mast and signal of distress must be erected. I shall try for fire directly. I must make a bow and some arrows. A clay pit I found will provide us with earthenware utensils, and then—if only I could manage to melt some brass—— You see, the worst of it is, no stone I've discovered on the place is fit to use for a tool."
Elaine avoided the boyish gleaming of his gaze. "Are we thrust so far back as the stone age, then? It's really as bad as that?"