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“None, I thank you,” he answered. Wood and the waterman, meanwhile, proceeded in the direction of St. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. He remembered it suddenly. ‘Let’s see now. "I see nothing surprising in it," rejoined Jonathan. Only in the sunshine; they would not answer my whistle on cloudy days. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness.

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