“Oh! come now,” remonstrated Baldwin; “we can’t believe that, can we, Miss Polly? Even a house-builder must think, much more an island-builder; and no fellow can think with his stomach, you know.”
“Nevertheless, it is as I tell you,” continued Jack, “and these little creatures manage to create hundreds of islands in the Southern Seas, by their perseverance, energy, and united action. Quite an example to man—eh, Baldwin?”
“Ha! just so—a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together. I think we’d better act on the principles of these corry-lines, else Miss Polly’s bower won’t be ready afore dark.”
So saying, the seaman and our philosopher resumed their work with such united energy—aided by Polly herself—that a very comfortable habitation of boughs and large leaves was finished before the day closed. It resembled a large beehive, was overshadowed by dense foliage of a tropical kind, and carpeted with a species of fern.
Polly was profuse in her thanks, and when it was finished, called to her father to come and admire it. The stout mariner at once obeyed the summons. He quitted the pile of firewood on which he had been labouring, and with a violently red face and perspiring brow, appeared on the scene, bearing a mighty axe on his shoulder.
“Splendid!” he exclaimed, with beaming admiration. “It’s fit for the queen of the coral isles.”
“For whom it is intended!” said Philosopher Jack, quickly.
Polly laughed, for she understood the compliment, but suddenly became grave, as she remembered Ben Trench, and said, “No, no; it must be used as a shelter for Ben.”
“That’s kind of you, Polly,” said Watty coming up with a huge bundle of grass and foliage for bedding at the moment; “but Ben has got friends to remember him as well as you. Bob Corkey and I have made him a hut on the other side of the bushes—there, you may see the top of it through the leaves.”
“Does any one know where Mr Luke is?” asked the captain.