“Now, daddy,” said the Bu’ster, with a face of beaming joy, “this is the very jolliest thing that ever could have happened to us—ain’t it?”
“Well, I’m not so sure o’ that, lad. To be cast away on a lone desert island in the middle o’ the Pacific, with little or no chance o’ gittin’ away for a long bit, ain’t quite the jolliest thing in the world, to my mind.”
“Wot’s a desert island, daddy?”
“One as ain’t peopled or cultivated.”
“Then that’s no objection to it,” said Billy, “because we two are people enough, and we’ll cultivate it up to the mast-head afore long.”
“But what shall we do for victuals, lad?” inquired Gaff, with a smile.
The Bu’ster was posed. He had never thought of food, so his countenance fell.
“And drink?” added Gaff.
The Bu’ster was not posed at this, for he remembered, and reminded his father of, the pond which they had seen from the ridge.
“Aha!” he added, “an’ there was lots o’ ducks on it too. We can eat them, you know, daddy, even though we han’t got green peas or taties to ’em.”