The tropical storm went on. The thunder crashed and the lightning
flashed and the rain poured down in torrents. Barty had never heard
such a noise in his life, but inside the cave everything was dry and
warm and comfortable. The floor was covered with fine white sparkling
sand, like a wonderful new kind of carpet. The walls and roof were
made of white rock which sparkled also. The Good Wolf sat down on the
white sand floor and smiled cheerfully. Barty sat down, too, and the
black monkey sat down at the same time, because he was still perched
on Barty's shoulder. He seemed an affectionate monkey, for he put one
funny arm round the little boy's neck and leaned a black cheek against
his curly hair.
"Come down and sit on my knee," Barty said to him, "I want to look at
you. I never had a monkey for a friend in all my life before."
The black monkey jumped down on to his knee as if he had learned boys'
language in his cradle. He could only chatter monkey chatter himself,
but it was quite plain that he understood Barty. He _was_ funny when
he sat down and folded his tiny hands before him, as if he were
waiting to hear what was going to be said to him.
"He has such nice eyes," said Barty. "I believe he is asking me to
tell him to do something."
"Yes, that's what he wants," replied the Good Wolf. "That is what he
came for. I knew he was coming. That was why I asked you if you had
seen something black."
"Was it?" said Barty. "You know all about this desert island, don't
you?"
"Yes," the Good Wolf answered. "Every single thing," and he said it
with such a peculiar smile that Barty knew there was some secret in
his mind and he wondered what it was, but he did not ask because he
felt sure that the Good Wolf would tell him some time.
The black monkey was looking at him so eagerly and with such a funny
expression that Barty could not help laughing.
"His face is so tiny and wrinkled that he looks like a baby a hundred
years old--only babies never are a hundred years old," he said. "Will
you stay with me?" he asked the monkey. "If I were really Robinson
Crusoe and you were bigger you might be my Man Friday."
"Chat-chat--chattery-chatterdy-chatterdy," replied the little black
creature, getting so excited that he quite jumped up and down as if he
could not keep still. He chattered so hard and his chatter sounded so
much as if he were talking that it made Barty laugh more than ever and
put a queer new thought into his head.
"It seems as if he were trying to say Saturday," he cried out.
"Perhaps he is saying it in monkey language. I'm going to call him
that. If he isn't a Man Friday he can be a Man Saturday." And Man
Saturday seemed so pleased and the Good Wolf thought it such a good
idea, that Barty was delighted and hugged his new little black friend
quite tight in his arms.
"Things get nicer and nicer," he chuckled. "I wouldn't have missed
coming to this desert island for anything."
Tropical storms come very quickly and go very quickly. Suddenly this
one seemed to end all at once. The thunder stopped and the lightning
stopped and the rain was over and the huge black cloud disappeared and
out came the blazing sun looking as if it were pretending that it had
never been hidden at all.
Barty and the Good Wolf went to look out through the big hole in the
wall of the cave which was like a window. Everything was sparkling
and blue and green and splendid again.
The sea, and the sky, and the grass, and the trees all looked so
beautiful that Barty stood and gazed out of the window for about five
minutes, forgetting everything else. Then suddenly he turned and
looked around the cave.
"Where is Saturday?" he cried out.
The Good Wolf turned and looked about too, and after he had done it he
shook his ears in a mystified way.
"I don't see him anywhere," he said. "He is not in that corner and he
is not in _that_ one, and he is not in that one, and he is not in the
_other_ one. If he were in the middle we should see him, of course."
"I am sure he wouldn't run away," said Barty. "I feel quite sure he
wouldn't. He had such a nice look in his eyes and I know he took me
for his friend. And I took him for mine. When people are friends they
don't run away."
"Oh no," answered the Good Wolf. "Certainly not. Let us walk slowly
all round the cave and look very carefully. This cave is a queer shape
and it may have corners we can't see just at first."
So they walked round side by side and looked very carefully indeed.
Once they walked round, twice they walked round, three times they
walked round, and then they stopped and looked at each other. The Good
Wolf sat down and scratched his ear with his hind foot in a very
careful manner, and Barty put his hands in his pockets and whistled a
little, quite thoughtfully. But almost the very next minute he cheered
up and his face beamed all over.
"Why," he exclaimed, "you see, if he is my Man Saturday, he has things
to do for me! I've not lived on a desert island long enough to know
what they are, but I daresay they are very important. I believe he has
gone to do something for me which he knows is his duty."
The Good Wolf stopped scratching his ear with his hind foot and became
as cheerful as Barty.
"_Of course!_" he exclaimed emphatically. "You are a very clever boy
to think of that. You always think of the right things at the right
time, instead of thinking of the right things at the wrong time or the
wrong things at the right time, which is very confusing."
"Shall we go outside and see if he is anywhere about?" said Barty.
"That is a good idea, too," responded the Good Wolf. "You are full of
good ideas, and they are the most useful things a person can have on a
desert island."
They walked down the cave--it was rather a long cave--towards the
narrow passage which led from the hole outside to which Saturday had
led Barty. As they came to the entrance to it they both drew back to
look at something very queer which was coming towards them through the
passage itself. It certainly was the queerest thing Barty had ever
beheld since he had been a boy, and the Good Wolf himself looked as if
it seemed a queer thing even to him. It would have seemed queer to
you, too. What it really was Barty could not possibly have told, but
what it _looked_ like was a bundle of dried leaves bound together by
long grass and _walking_ over the ground by itself as if it were
alive.
"It _is_ walking, isn't it?" asked Barty, too much astonished to be
sure his eyes did not deceive him.
"It certainly is," the Good Wolf replied, "there is no mistake about
that, and though I am Noah's Ark Wolf and have lived for ages and
ages, I have never seen a bundle of dry leaves walk before. It is very
interesting, indeed." He actually sat down to watch it and Barty
leaned forward with his hands on his knees and gazed with all his
might. On it came. It did not walk fast at all, but rather slowly as
if it found it rather hard to get along--which seemed very natural,
because no bundle of dried leaves could have had much practice in
walking.
[Illustration: Barty leaned forward with his hands on his knees and
gazed with all his might.]
It walked past them and it walked the full length of the cave until
it reached the corner nearest the window.
"It's stopping," called out Barty, and the next minute he called out
again: "It's lying down."
It did lie down, almost as if it were tired, but it did not lie still
more than a minute. It rolled over on its side and lay there, and
there was a scuffling and a couple of black legs were to be seen
kicking themselves loose, and a pair of black arms twisting themselves
from under it, and a little black wrinkled face and head with cunning,
bright eyes pushed themselves out, and the minute Barty saw them he
shouted aloud with glee:
"Saturday! Saturday! Saturday!" he cried out. "It was Man Saturday all
the time. He was carrying the bundle of leaves himself and it was so
big and he was so little and the leaves hung down so that we didn't
see him."
Man Saturday came running across to his little master. It was plain to
be seen that he was so pleased about something that he did not know
what to do. He caught hold of Barty's hand and chatterdy-chattered at
him and tried to pull him towards the corner.
"He wants me to do something," said Barty. "He brought the leaves for
something. He wants me to find out what they are for."
Man Saturday danced before him to the corner where the bundle of
leaves lay. He began to pull at the twigs which tied them together,
and Barty knelt down and helped him.
"I'm sure they are for something important," he said. "I am going to
think very hard."
He stood up and put his hands in his pockets and he stood astride
because boys can often think harder when they stand that way. Man
Saturday tried to imitate him, but as he hadn't any pockets he put his
hands on his hips and held his head on one side while he watched Barty
with his sharp little eyes, all eagerness to see if he would find out
what he meant. He looked so funny.
"You couldn't _eat_ them however loose your belt was," Barty said,
looking at the leaves. "And you couldn't _drink_ them even if you were
dreadfully thirsty--and you couldn't _wear_ them even if your clothes
were worn out as Robinson Crusoe's were. Even if you had a needle and
thread to stitch them together they would break to pieces because they
are so dry and brittle."
"Yes, they are very dry," remarked the Good Wolf, quietly.
And then all in a minute Barty felt sure he knew.
"If there were enough of them you could lie down on them," he said in
great excitement. "_That's_ what they are for! Saturday knows where
there are more of them and they are for a bed." When he said that,
Man Saturday gave a squeak of delight and he immediately caught at
Barty's hand and began to pull him towards the passage which was the
way out of the cave.
"He has got a store of them somewhere," said the Good Wolf, "and it is
a place where the rain could not reach it. Let us trot along and see."
Barty and Man Saturday were trotting along already, at least Man
Saturday was trotting and Barty was creeping through the passage, and
in two minutes he was out on the side of the cliff again and standing
upon the ledge outside the cave. It was a very convenient ledge, and
you could walk nearly all round the cliff on it. It was the kind of
ledge you would only find on a desert island like Barty's--a really
nice desert island.
Man Saturday led the way, and after a few yards they came to a place
where some trees and bushes hung over the edge, and beneath them was a
hole in the rock, rather like a very little cave, and there were a
great many leaves near the entrance to it. Anyone could see how they
had got there. They were blown from the trees and bushes, and when
Barty bent down and peeped into the hole he saw that it was full of
leaves which had been blowing in there for years until the tiny cave
seemed almost stuffed with them. No rain could reach them and so they
were quite nice and dry.
The hole was too small for Barty to crawl into, but it was more than
large enough for Man Saturday, and chattering to Barty as fast as he
could he crawled in and began to put together another bundle. He got
the twigs from a bush close by and he pushed leaves out to Barty, so
that he might help him.
It was great fun for Barty. He knew he could carry quite a bundle, and
so he made a big one and when it was done he carried it back to his
cave and pushed it before him when he crawled through the passage. Man
Saturday brought one suited to his own size, because he was determined
to work, too. Then they went back and made more bundles and the Good
Wolf carried a big one on his back. In about half an hour the corner
of the cave had a beautiful soft, heaped up, dry leaf bed in it, and
Barty was rolling over and jumping and turning somersaults on it, and
Man Saturday was jumping about with him. The leaves were piled so high
and were so springy to jump on that it was like dancing in a hay
stack, but rather nicer.
"Now," said Barty, stopping a minute to take breath after turning six
somersaults on end, "we have a beautiful bath and we have a house and
we have a bed and we have a Man Saturday--and we found something to
eat when we looked, and I believe we shall find something more when
we look again. I think just now I will lie down and have a sleep.
Running very hard in storms does make you sleepy."
"That's a good idea, too," answered the Good Wolf. "I believe I should
like to curl up and get a few thousand winks myself. Forty wouldn't be
enough."
And he did curl up at the bottom of Barty's big bed of leaves, and
almost before he had time to do it Barty had curled up, too, like a
squirrel in a nest, and he was fast asleep--and so was little Man
Saturday, who curled up close beside him.
[Illustration]