"And suppose I were to write the account in a letter instead of
telling you in words, would that be less useful?"

"Well - no, perhaps not."

"Well, suppose I were to print it, and send it to you in the form
of a book, would it not be as good and useful as ever?"

"Oh, bother! Jack, you're a philosopher, and that's worse than
anything!" cried Peterkin, with a look of pretended horror.

"Very well, Peterkin, we shall see," returned Jack, halting under
the shade of a cocoa-nut tree. "You said you were thirsty just a
minute ago; now, jump up that tree and bring down a nut, - not a
ripe one, bring a green, unripe one."

Peterkin looked surprised, but, seeing that Jack was in earnest, he
obeyed.

"Now, cut a hole in it with your penknife, and clap it to your
mouth, old fellow," said Jack.

Peterkin did as he was directed, and we both burst into
uncontrollable laughter at the changes that instantly passed over
his expressive countenance. No sooner had he put the nut to his
mouth, and thrown back his head in order to catch what came out of
it, than his eyes opened to twice their ordinary size with
astonishment, while his throat moved vigorously in the act of
swallowing. Then a smile and look of intense delight overspread