and that was as good as saying the night was about done. I gave her a turn with the paddle and brung her nose to shore; then I got my gun and slipped out and into the edge of the woods. I sat down there on a log, and looked out through the leaves. I saw the moon go off watch, and the darkness begin to blanket the river. But in a little while I saw a pale streak over the treetops and knew the day was coming. So I took my gun and slipped off towards where I had come across that campfire, stopping every minute or two to listen. But I hadn’t any luck somehow; I couldn’t seem to find the place. But by-and-by, sure enough, I caught a glimpse of fire away through the trees. I went for it, cautious and slow. By-and-by I was close enough to have a look, and there lay a man on the ground. It most gave me the fantods. He had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire. I sat there behind a clump of bushes, about six feet from him, and kept my eyes on him steady. It was getting gray daylight now. Pretty soon he gaped and stretched himself and hove off the blanket, and it was Miss Watson’s Jim! I bet I was glad to see him. I said:“Hello, Jim!” and skipped out. He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he dropped down on his knees and put his hands together and said:“Don’t hurt me—don’t! I haven’t ever done any harm to a ghost. I always liked dead people and done all I could for them. You go and get in the river again, where you belongs, and don’t do nothing to Old Jim, that was always your friend.” Well, I wasn’t long making him understand I wasn’t dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I wasn’t lonesome now. I told him I wasn’t afraid of him telling the people where I was. I talked along, but he only sat there and looked at me; never said nothing. Then I said:“It’s good daylight. Let’s get breakfast. Make up your campfire good.” “What’s the use of making up the campfire to cook strawberries and such truck? But you got a gun, haven’t you? Then we can get something better than strawberries.” “Strawberries and such truck,” I said. “Is that what you live on?” “I couldn’t get nothing else,” he said. “Why, how long have you been on the island, Jim?” “I came here the night after you were killed.” “What, all that time?” “Yes—indeedy.” “And haven’t you had nothing but that kind of rubbish to eat?” “No, sir—nothing else.” “Well, you must be almost starved, aren’t you?” “I reckon I could eat a horse. I think I could. How long have you been on the island?”“Since the night I got killed.”

“No! W’y, what has you lived on? But you got a gun. Oh, yes, you got a gun. Dat’s good. Now you kill sumfn en I’ll make up de fire.”

So we went over to where the canoe was, and 

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