“There,” said he to Mark, who had now come, more slowly, for he carried the two bundles, “there, I’ve put down the day, else we shall lose our reckoning, don’t you see.”
They were soon dressed. Bevis put on the change he had provided in the store-room, and spread his wet clothes out to dry in the sun. Pan crept from one to the other; he could not get enough patting, he wanted to be continually spoken to and stroked. He would not go a yard from them.
“What’s the time?” said Bevis, “my watch has stopped.” The water had stopped it.
“Five minutes to twelve,” said Mark. “You must write down, ‘We landed on the island at noon.’”
“So I will to-night. My watch won’t go; the water is in it.”
“Lucky mine did not got wet too.”
“Hang yours up in the hut, else perhaps it will get stopped somehow, then we shan’t know the time.”
Mark hung his watch up in the hut, and caught sight of the wooden bottle.
“The first thing people do is to refresh themselves,” he said. “Let’s have a glass of ale: splendid thing when you’re shipwrecked—”
“A libation to the gods,” said Bevis. “That’s the thing; you pour it out on the ground because you’ve escaped.”