The consul had been very silent and indifferent, during
supper, to all around him. Now he looked up with some show of
interest.

"How much longer is it going to rain, do you think?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know," said Stedman, critically. "Not more than
two months, I should say." The consul rubbed his rheumatic
leg and sighed, but said nothing.

The Bradleys returned about ten o'clock, and came in very
sheepishly. The consul had gone off to pay the boatmen who
had brought them, and Albert in his absence assured the
sailors that there was not the least danger of their being
sent away. Then he turned into one of the beds, and Stedman
took one in another room, leaving the room he had occupied
heretofore for the consul. As he was saying good-night,
Albert suggested that he had not yet told them how he came to
be on a deserted island; but Stedman only laughed and said
that that was a long story, and that he would tell him all
about it in the morning. So Albert went off to bed without
waiting for the consul to return, and fell asleep, wondering
at the strangeness of his new life, and assuring himself that
if the rain only kept up, he would have his novel finished in
a month.

The sun was shining brightly when he awoke, and the palm-trees
outside were nodding gracefully in a warm breeze. From the
court came the odor of strange flowers, and from the window he