went on into the hollow, with an exclamation of relief: "No, 't isn't
her room any more, thank God!"

Lord James stared. Well as he knew the sterling qualities of his
friend, he had never suspected him of such delicacy. He gazed
curiously around at the unshapely but flawless sand-glazed earthenware
set on a bamboo rack beside the open stone fireplace, at the rough-
woven but strong baskets piled together near the foot of the baobab,
at the pouch of antelope skin, the grass sombreros, the bamboo spits
and forks and spoons--all the many useful utensils that told of the
ingenuity and resourcefulness of his friend.

But, most of all, he was interested in the weighty hardwood club
leaning against the tree trunk and the great bamboo bow hanging above
in a skin sheath beside a quiver full of long feather-tipped arrows.
He was balancing the club when Blake came out of the tree-cave,
carrying a young cocoanut in one hand, and in the other a small pot
seemingly full of dried mud. Lord James replaced the club, and waved
his hand around at the camp.

"'Pon my word, Tom," he commented, "you've out-Crusoed old Robinson!"

"Sure!" agreed Blake. "He had a whole shipful of stuff as a starter,
while we didn't have anything except my magnifying glass and Win's
penknife and keys."

He pulled out a curious sheath-knife made of a narrow ribbon of steel
set in a bone back. "How's that for a blade? Big flat British keys--
good steel. I welded 'em together, end to end."