The first care of Pencroff, after the raft had been unloaded, was to make the Chimneys habitable, by stopping up those passages traversed by the draughts of air. Sand, stones, twisted branches, and mud, hermetically sealed the galleries of the & open to the southerly winds, and shut out its upper curve. One narrow, winding passage, opening on the side; was arranged to carry out the smoke and to quicken the draught of the fire. The Chimneys were thus divided into three or four chambers, if these dark dens, which would hardly have contained a beast, might be so called. But they were dry, and one could stand up in them, or at least in the principal one, which was in the centre. The floor was covered with sand, and, everything considered, they could establish themselves in this place while waiting for one better. While working, Herbert and Pencroff chatted together. “Perhaps,” said the boy, “our companions will have found a better place than ours.” “It is possible.” answered the sailor, “but, until we know, don’t let us stop. Better have two strings to one’s bow than none at all!” “Oh,” repeated Herbert, “if they can only find Mr. Smith, and bring him back with them, how thankful we will be!” “Yes,” murmured Pencroff. “He was a good man.” “Was!” said Herbert. “Do you think we shall not see him again?” “Heaven forbid!” replied the sailor. The work of division was rapidly accomplished, and Pencroff declared himself satisfied. “Now,” said he, “our friends may return, and they will find a good enough shelter.” Nothing remained but to fix the fireplace and to prepare the meal, which, in truth, was a task easy and simple enough. Large flat stones were placed at the mouth of the first gallery to the left, where the smoke passage had been made; and this chimney was made so narrow that but little heat would escape up the flue, and the cavern would be comfortably warmed. The stock of wood was piled up in one of the chambers, and the sailor placed some logs and broken branches upon the stones. He was occupied in arranging them when Herbert asked him if he had some matches. “Certainly,” replied Pencroff, “and moreover, fortunately; for without matches or tinder we would indeed be in trouble.” “Could not we always make fire as the savages do,” replied Herbert, “by rubbing two bits of dry wood together?” “Just try it, my boy, some time, and see if you do anything more than put your arms out of joint.” “Nevertheless, it is often done in the islands of the Pacific.” “I don’t say that it is not,” replied Pencroff, “but the savages must have a way of their own, or use a certain kind of wood, as more than once I have wanted to get fire in that way and have never yet been able to. For my part, I prefer matches; and, by the way, where are mine?” Pencroff, who was an habitual smoker, felt in his vest for the box, which he was never without, but, not finding it, he searched the pockets of his trowsers, and to his profound amazement, it was not there.