“It is a wonder. We certainly would have noticed anything like a path, if we had found one.” “Well, it’s all the same now. Ye’ll jist stay here, an’ sit down an’ ate yer breakfasts like Christians, an’ I’ll go an’ bring the boy. Not one of ye shall stir a step--not one step.” “Well, Mr. O’Rafferty, I’m sure you are putting yourself to too much trouble--” “Throuble! D’ye call it throuble? Sure an’ isn’t it the brightest day I’ve knowed for iver so long?” “Deed it is,” chimed in his wife. “Be off wid ye, Dinny dear, and hurry back with the poor boy. Sure I’ll keep the tay hot for him, an’ the praties, an’ the bacon.” Any further remonstrance or objection was out of the question; so the boys took their seats at the table. The old man started off, and promised to be back in a “jiffy.” He ascended the slope behind the house, and entered the woods by a pathway which, though but little trodden, was yet easy to traverse. Far different was this from the rough way by which the boys had crossed the island; and in far less time than they had taken, Denny approached the other shore. The pathway led down to the beach, about a hundred yards below the place where they had built their first fire. As he descended, a singular sight met his eyes. X. _New Attempts at Cookery.--Phil on the Lookout.--A Sail! A Sail!--The Signal of the red Shirt.--The Home of the O’Raffertys._ WE left Phil behind, on the beach. After the others had departed, Phil occupied himself with making arrangements to while away the time. First of all, he set to work to try and make an omelet. After a long search on the beach, he found some clam shells, which he took up to the platform; and then, selecting some flat stones, he threw them into the fire. Then he mixed some eggs in one of the shells, and tried to beat them with his jackknife. His success was not exactly dazzling; but he was satisfied to a certain extent, and intensely interested. At length, drawing forth one of the stones, which, by this time, was red hot, he poured the mixture on its surface. There was a fizzle, a steam, a hiss, and then a horrible smell of burnt egg. Phil made an awful face, and giving the stone a kick, sent it flying down to the beach, omelet and all. Not at all discouraged, he began again _ab ovo_. Drawing out another stone, he determined to give it time to cool. So he mixed up some more eggs in the shell; and after waiting patiently for a long time for the stone, he at length thought it was cool enough, and poured the mixture upon it. It certainly had grown cool this time in fact, somewhat too cool, as Phil gradually learned, when, after waiting patiently, he found that there was no appearance of any progress whatever in the cookery. So this, too, was a failure, and Phil disdainfully hurled it after its predecessor.