Bob. “Why?”
Jack. “’Cause there are no palm-trees in Lapland.”
Bob. “Dear me, that’s true. How confused my head is! I’ll tell you what it is, Jack, I can’t think. That’s it—that’s the cause of the mystery that seems to beset me, I can’t tell how; and then I’ve been ill—that’s it too.”
Jack. “How can there be two causes for one effect, Bob? You’re talking stuff, man. If I couldn’t talk better sense than that, I’d not talk at all.”
Bob. “Then why don’t you hold your tongue? I tell you what it is, Jack, we’re bewitched. You said I was mad some time ago. You were right—so I am; so are you. There are too many mysteries here for any two sane men.” (Here Jack murmured we weren’t men, but boys.) “There’s the running away and not being caught—the ship ready to sail the moment we arrive; there’s your joining me after all your good advice; there’s that horrible fight, and the lions, and Edwards, and the sinking of our ship, and the—the—in short, I feel that I’m mad still. I’m not recovered yet. Here, Jack, take care of me!”
Instead of replying to this, Jack busied himself in fitting a piece of wood he had picked up to his wooden leg, and lashing it firmly to the old stump. When he had accomplished his task, he turned gravely to me and said—
“Bob, your faculties are wandering pretty wildly to-day, but you’ve not yet hit upon the cause of all our misfortunes. The true cause is that you have disobeyed your father, and I my mother.”
I hung my head. I had now no longer difficulty in collecting my thoughts—they circled round that point until I thought that remorse would have killed me. Then suddenly I turned with a look of gladness to my friend.
“But you forget the letter! We are forgiven!”
“True,” cried Jack, with a cheerful expression; “we can face our fate with that assurance. Come, let us strike into the country and discover where we are. I’ll manage to hop along pretty well with my wooden leg. We’ll get home as soon as we can, by land if not by water, and then we’ll remain at home—won’t we, Bob?”