I've no doubt that Bobby,
had he never been sent adrift, and had he never found his way here,
would now be living in a fine mansion somewhere, and if he had been
brought here directly from the luxuries of that mansion would have found
this _igloo_ unbearable, and instead of praising its comforts, as he is,
would be denouncing it as unendurable, and the good supper we have just
eaten as unfit to eat. And in that case it would have been a terrible
hardship for him to spend even a single night here."
"I'm glad, then, that I came away from the mansion and its finery,"
declared Bobby. "But I've often wondered who the dead man was that
Father found in the boat with me. I've often felt strange about that,
and every summer when we're here I go over and look at his grave."
"I remember you spoke of him as 'Uncle Robert,'" said Skipper Ed.
"Perhaps he was your uncle."
"I wonder--and I wonder--" said Bobby. "I wonder if my real mother and
father are living, and whether they have stopped feeling bad about me,
and forgotten me. I--think--sometimes I'd give most anything to see them
and tell them I'm happy."
Then they were silent, and presently Skipper Ed knew that the boys were
sleeping. But for a long time he lay awake and thought of other lands,
and the friends of his youth and the days when he lived in luxury; and
he wondered if, after all, he had been one whit happier in those days,
with all the fine things he had, than were Bobby and Jimmy here in this
rugged land, with no luxuries whatever.
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