They found on every hand ruin and desolation. The
houses of the people had been pilfered of all valuables
and then torn down or burned. Not a boat had been left
upon the shore, nor was there a single person, man or
woman or child, remaining upon the island, save
themselves. The only inhabitants of Pingaree now
consisted of a fat little King, a boy and a goat.

Even Rinkitink, merry hearted as he was, found it
hard to laugh in the face of this mighty disaster. Even
the goat, contrary to its usual habit, refrained from
saying anything disagreeable. As for the poor boy whose
home was now a wilderness, the tears came often to his
eyes as he marked the ruin of his dearly loved island.

When, at nightfall, they reached the lower end of
Pingaree and found it swept as bare as the rest, Inga's
grief was almost more than he could bear. Everything
had been swept from him -- parents, home and country --
in so brief a time that his bewilderment was equal to
his sorrow.

Since no house remained standing, in which they might
sleep, the three wanderers crept beneath the
overhanging branches of a cassa tree and curled
themselves up as comfortably as possible. So tired and
exhausted were they by the day's anxieties and griefs
that their troubles soon faded into the mists of
dreamland. Beast and King and boy slumbered peacefully
together until wakened by the singing of the birds