steadily drifting with the wind toward the south.

"We might as well be dead and done with it," grumbled
Thorndyke. "Ships are not apt to approach this isolated spot, and
even if they did, how could we give a signal of distress?"

Johnston stroked his dark beard thoughtfully, then he pointed
toward the shore.

"There are some driftwood and seaweed," he said; "with my sun-
glass I can soon have a bonfire." He took a piece of punk from a
waterproof box that he carried in his pocket and focussed the
sun's rays on it. "Run down and bring me an armful of dry seaweed
and wood," he added, intent on his work.

Thorndyke clambered down to the shore, and in a few minutes
returned with an armful of fuel. Johnston was blowing his punk
into a flame, and in a moment had a blazing fire.

"Good," approved the Englishman, rubbing his hands together over
the flames. "We'll keep it burning and it may do some good."
Then a smile of satisfaction came over his face as he began to
take some clams from his pockets. "Plenty of these fellows down
there, and they are as fat and juicy as can be. Hurry up and
let's bake them. I'm as hungry as a bear. There is a fine spring
of fresh water below, too, so we won't die of thirst."

They baked the clams and ate them heartily, and then went down
to the spring near the shore. The water was deliciously cool and
invigorating. The sun sank into the quiet ocean and night crept