I wrote the date at the top, near the raggedy place where the leaf
was torn out of Aunt Ailsa's sketch-book, and then I put, "We be
Three Poore Mariners," like the song in "Pan-Pipes."

Jerry and Greg kept telling me things to write, till the page was
quite full and went something like this:

"We be Three Poore Mariners, cast away upon the lone and
desolate shore of Wecanicut, an island in the Atlantic Ocean,
lat. and long. unknown. Our position is very perilous, as we
have exhausted all our supplies, including large stores of
olives, and are now forced to exist on beach-peas, barnacles,
and--and--"

"Eiligugs' eggs," said Greg, dreamily.

Jerry pounced on him and said they only grew on the Irish coast, but
I said: "All right! Beach-peas, barnacles, and eiligugs' eggs, of
which only a small supply is to be had on this bleak and dismal
coast. Our ship, the good ferry-boat _Wecanicut_, left us marooned,
and there is no hope of our being picked up for the next two hours.
Any person finding this message, please come to our assistance by
dropping us a line," (I must honestly say that this was Jerry's, and
much better than usual) "as the surf is too heavy for boats to land
on this end of the island. Signed:--"

"Don't sign it 'Christine'," Jerry said. "Put 'Chris,' if we're to
be real mariners."