Ommander called, when the gig had been safely moored. "This
sail will make a fine tent." So it proved
when it was set up on some poles which Tim Flynn cut with a light
hatchet

found among the tools. Mr. Tarbill

could not be depended on to do anything, and he was so mournful,
standing around and lamenting the fact
that he had ever undertaken the trip,
that, to get rid of him, Captain Spark sent him off once more to catch
turtles, or, if he could
not do that, to gather some of the eggs. This last Mr. Tarbill was able
to do, but he was not successful in turning any of the crawling
creatures over on their backs. The tent was erected before dark, and,
with a cheerful fire burning in front of it, supper was prepared. This
time they had tin dishes to eat from, as a supply was found in the gig's
lockers. Tired out with their day's work, and by the struggle

with the sea, the castaways all slept soundly. Nor was there any need to
stand guard during the night. On beds of palm leaves, under the tent,
they slumbered undisturbed until the sun, shining in on them, awoke all
four. "Well, I'm beginning
to feel quite to home," remarked the captain, who could be cheerful
under
misfortune. His good spirits should have been a lesson to Mr.

Tarbill. That