did not speak about, watching a series of secret and hitherto
unmentionable events--waiting, in a word, for a climax that he expected,
and, I thought, expected very soon. This grew up in my mind
intuitively--I hardly knew how.

I made a hurried examination of the tent and its surroundings, but the
measurements of the night remained the same. There were deep hollows
formed in the sand, I now noticed for the first time, basin-shaped and
of various depths and sizes, varying from that of a teacup to a large
bowl. The wind, no doubt, was responsible for these miniature craters,
just as it was for lifting the paddle and tossing it towards the water.
The rent in the canoe was the only thing that seemed quite inexplicable;
and, after all, it _was_ conceivable that a sharp point had caught it
when we landed. The examination I made of the shore did not assist this
theory, but all the same I clung to it with that diminishing portion of
my intelligence which I called my "reason." An explanation of some kind
was an absolute necessity, just as some working explanation of the
universe is necessary--however absurd--to the happiness of every
individual who seeks to do his duty in the world and face the problems
of life. The simile seemed to me at the time an exact parallel.

I at once set the pitch melting, and presently the Swede joined me at
the work, though under the best conditions in the world the canoe could
not be safe for traveling till the following day. I drew his attention
casually to the hollows in the sand.

"Yes," he said, "I know. They're all over the island. But _you_ can
explain them, no doubt!"

"Wind, of course," I answered without hesitation. "Have you never