Some evenings, when Ato was trying out new recipes in the galley, Tandy and Samuel would descend to the hold to look over the plants from Patrippany Island, try to figure out the script on the piece of lava, and sort and arrange Samuel's shell collection. Every day after the nets were drawn up there were new specimens to classify and label. The drawing Tandy had made of the Sea Lion and all the pictures of the Leopard Men and beasts on Patrippany Island, Samuel had framed and hung above his shelves so that the hold was looking more and more like a scientific laboratory every day. "Do you suppose we'll ever find anything large enough to put in those big cages and aquariums?" asked Tandy one night as he pasted a pink label on a fluted conch shell. "Sure's eight bells!" murmured Samuel Salt comfortably. "No telling what'll turn up on a voyage like this. Personally I've set my heart on a roc's egg, but setting the heart on a roc's egg won't hatch one out, Ho, Ho! No, No! But, on the other hand, one never can tell and we've had a week of such fine and pleasant days, I look for something to happen any moment now, so you'd better put up your paste pot and turn in, my lad, so we'll all be ready for the morning." "Well, what would you do with a roc's egg?" inquired Tandy, reluctantly clapping the top on his bottle of glue. "Aren't they terribly big and terribly scarce, Captain Salt?" "Terribly!" admitted Samuel Salt, placing his tray of lamp shells back on their stand. "But a newly laid roc's egg is as rare as a mermaid's foot, and no larger than one small tar barrel. Now if we could just get a newly laid roc's egg aboard and find some way to preserve it, why, well and good, if we didn't find a way and it hatched before we landed, it could easily fly off with us and the ship, for THAT'S how big a bird a roc is. But I'll take a chance if I ever find a roc's egg and there's an island somewhere in these waters where rocs are known to nest. Rock Island it's called, and a roc's nest would be something to see, eh, Kinglet?" "Please don't call me that," begged Tandy earnestly. "Roger says I don't have to be a King on this ship and I like not being a King." "Ha! Ha! And I like you that way myself," roared Samuel, tossing Tandy suddenly to his shoulder. "Why, since you've stopped this King and son of a Kinging, you're a seaman after my own heart, and so long as the _Crescent Moon's_ afloat you've a berth on her! Up with you! Up with you! Tomorrow's another day." Swinging gaily to the main deck, Samuel tumbled Tandy into his bunk and went striding aft to take in his main and mizzen topsails.