And when the
wood was crackling merrily he made a comfortable seat of boughs upon
which to sit while he cooked and ate the one sea pigeon which he allowed
himself.
Bobby had never eaten a sea pigeon that seemed quite so small as that
one, and it required a large degree of self-denial and self-restraint to
observe the rule of economy which he had imposed upon himself on the
evening he was wrecked. He had decided then that two sea pigeons a day,
one in the morning and one in the evening, were all he could afford. For
who could tell how long it might be before he would make his escape? And
there were no birds or other game to be had on the island at this
season, and when those he had were gone there would be hungry days to
face. Though he declared to himself when picking the last bone of his
breakfast that he could never possibly be any hungrier than at that very
moment.
Nor could he afford a large fire in future. He calculated that he had
already collected enough wood to last him, with small and carefully
constructed fires, one day, and a survey of the island and its
possibilities revealed the fact that all the additional fuel he could
garner from the rocks would scarcely last him, even with rigid economy,
another week.
While confined to his cave during the period of the blizzard he had
satisfied his thirst with bits of ice. Now his fire was built close to a
little hollow in the rock, and, placing snow near the fire, it melted,
and the water running into the hollow settled there, and gave him drink.
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