The Swiss Family Robinson; or, Adventures on a Desert IslandWyss, Johann David
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The Swiss Family Robinson; or, Adventures on a Desert Island
Wyss, Johann David
Family life -- Fiction; Islands -- Fiction; Survival -- Fiction
"I have little doubt of it," I replied; "we are evidently within the
tropics, where such trees as these are sure to flourish. These pines,
now, come from France, Spain, and Italy; the olives from Armenia and
Palestine; the figs originally from the island of Chios; the peaches and
apricots from Persia; plums from Damascus in Syria, and the pears of all
sorts from Greece. However, if our countries have not been blessed in
the same way with fruit, we have been given wisdom and skill, which has
enabled us to import and cultivate the trees of other lands."
We thus talked and worked until every tree that required the treatment
was provided with a stout bamboo prop, and then, with appetites which a
gourmand might well have envied, we returned to Falconhurst. I think
the good mother was almost alarmed at the way we fell upon the corned
beef and palm-cabbage she set before us, but at length these good things
produced the desired effect, and one after another declared himself
satisfied. As we sat reclining after our labor and digesting our dinner,
we discussed the various projects we had in contemplation. "I wish,"
said my wife, "that you would invent some other plan for climbing to the
nest above us; I think that the nest itself is perfect--I really wish
for nothing better, but I should like to be able to get to it without
scaling that dreadful ladder every time; could you not make a flight of
steps to reach it?"
I carefully thought over the project, and turned over every plan for its
accomplishment.
"It would be impossible, I am afraid," said I, "to make stairs outside,
but within the trunk it might be done. More than once have I thought
that this trunk might be hollow, or partly so, and if such be the case
our task would be comparatively easy. Did you not tell me the other day
that you noticed bees coming from a hole in the tree?"
"Oh, yes," said little Franz, "and I went to look at them and one flew
right against my face and stung me, and I almost cried, but I didn't."
"Brave little boy," said I. "Well, now if the trunk be sufficiently
hollow to contain a swarm of bees, it may be, for all we can tell,
hollow the greater part of its length, for like the willow in our own
country it might draw all its nourishment through the bark, and in spite
of its real unsoundness retain a flourishing appearance."
Master Jack, practical as usual, instantly sprang to his feet to put my
conjecture to the proof. The rest followed his example, and they were
all soon climbing about like squirrels, peeping into the hole, and
tapping the wood to discover by sound how far down the cavity extended.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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