Smith and Herbert, after baring carefully noted the location of the cycas, returned to Granite House and made known their discovery, and the next day all the colonists went to the place, and, Pencroff, jubilant, asked the engineer:— “Mr Smith, do you believe there are such things as castaways’ islands?” “What do you mean, Pencroff?.” “Well, I mean islands made especially for people to be shipwrecked upon, where the poor devils could always get along!” “Perhaps,” said the engineer, smiling. “Certainly!” answered the sailor, “and just as certainly Lincoln Island is one of them!” They returned to Granite House with an ample supply of cycas stems, and the engineer made a press by which the liquid was expelled, and they obtained a goodly quantity of flour which Neb transformed into cakes and puddings. They had not yet real wheaten bread, but it was the next thing to do. The onager, the goats, and the sheep in the corral furnished a daily supply of milk to the colony, and the cart, or rather a light wagon, which had taken its place, made frequent trips to the corral. And when Pencroff’s turn came, he took Jup along, and made him drive, and Jup, cracking his whip, acquitted himself with his usual intelligence. Thus everything prospered, and the colonists, if they had not been so far from their country, would have had nothing to complain of. They liked the life and they were so accustomed to the island that they would have left it with regret. Nevertheless, such is man’s love of country, that had a ship hove in sight the colonists would have signalled it, have gone aboard and departed. Meantime, they lived this happy life and they had rather to fear than to wish for any interruption of its course. But who is able to flatter himself that he has attained his fortune and reached the summit of his desires? The colonists often discussed the nature of their Island, which they had inhabited for more than a year, and one day a remark was made which, was destined, later, to bring about the most serious result. It was the 1st of April, a Sunday, and the Pascal feast, which Smith and his companions had sanctified by rest and prayer. The day had been lovely, like a day in October in the Northern Hemisphere. Towards evening all were seated in the arbor on the edge of the plateau, watching the gradual approach of night, and drinking some of Neb’s elderberry coffee. They had been talking of the island and its isolated position in the Pacific, when something made Spilett say:— “By the way, Cyrus, have you ever taken the position of the island again since you have had the sextant?” “No,” answered the engineer. “Well, wouldn’t it be well enough to do so?”. “What would be the use?” asked Pencroff. “The island is well enough where it is.” “Doubtless,” answered Spilett, “but it is possible that the imperfections of the other instruments may have caused an error in that observation, and since, it is easy to verify it exactly—”