The work progressed so rapidly, that in a few days more the boat approached completion, and preparations were being made in earnest for finally quitting the little isle on which they had found a home for so many days.
It was observed by the captain that as the work of boat-building drew to a close, Glynn Proctor continued to labour long after the others had retired to rest, wearied with the toils of the day—toils which they were not now so well able to bear as heretofore, on account of the slight want of vigour caused by being compelled to live on half allowance.
One evening the captain went down to the building yard in Fairyland, and said to Glynn—
“Hallo, my boy! at it yet? Why, what are you making? A dog-kennel, eh?”
“No; not exactly that,” replied Glynn, laughing. “You’ll hardly guess.”
“I would say it was a house for Jacko, only it seems much too big.”
“It’s just possible that Jacko may have a share in it,” said Glynn; “but it’s not for him.”
“Who, then? Not for yourself, surely!”
“It’s for Ailie,” cried Glynn gleefully. “Don’t you think it will be required?” he added, looking up, as if he half feared the captain would not permit his contrivance to be used.
“Well, I believe it will, my boy. I had intended to get some sort of covering for my dear Ailie put up in the stern-sheets; but I did not think of absolutely making a box for her.”