“The Little People lit the fire for me,” cried Maloney, looking natural and at home in his ancient flannel suit and breaking off in the middle of his singing, “so I’ve got the porridge going—­and this time it’s not burnt.”

We reported the discovery of water and held up the fish.

“Good!  Good again!” he cried.  “We’ll have the first decent breakfast we’ve had this year.  Sangree’ll clean ’em in no time, and the Bo’sun’s Mate—­”

“Will fry them to a turn,” laughed the voice of Mrs. Maloney, appearing on the scene in a tight blue jersey and sandals, and catching up the frying-pan.  Her husband always called her the Bo’sun’s Mate in Camp, because it was her duty, among others, to pipe all hands to meals.

“And as for you, Joan,” went on the happy man, “you look like the spirit of the island, with moss in your hair and wind in your eyes, and sun and stars mixed in your face.”  He looked at her with delighted admiration.  “Here, Sangree, take these twelve, there’s a good fellow, they’re the biggest; and we’ll have ’em in butter in less time than you can say Baltic island!”

I watched the Canadian as he slowly moved off to the cleaning pail.  His eyes were drinking in the girl’s beauty, and a wave of passionate, almost feverish, joy passed over his face, expressive of the ecstasy of true worship more than anything else.  Perhaps he was thinking that he still had three weeks to come with that vision always before his eyes; perhaps he was thinking of his dreams in the night.  I cannot say.  But I noticed the curious mingling of yearning and happiness in his eyes, and the strength of the impression touched my curiosity.  Something in his face held my gaze for a second, something to do with its intensity.  That so timid, so gentle a personality should conceal so virile a passion almost seemed to require explanation.

But the impression was momentary, for that first breakfast in Camp permitted no divided attentions, and I dare swear that the porridge, the tea, the Swedish “flatbread,” and the fried fish flavoured with points of frizzled bacon, were better than any meal eaten elsewhere that day in the whole world.

The first clear day in a new camp is always a furiously busy one, and we soon dropped into the routine upon which in large measure the real comfort of every one depends.  About the cooking-fire, greatly improved with stones from the shore, we built a high stockade consisting of upright poles thickly twined with branches, the roof lined with moss and lichen and weighted with rocks, and round the interior we made low wooden seats so that we could lie round the fire even in rain and eat our meals in peace.  Paths, too, outlined themselves from tent to tent, from the bathing places and the landing stage, and a fair division of the island was decided upon between the quarters of the men and the women.  Wood was stacked, awkward trees and boulders removed, hammocks slung, and tents strengthened.  In a word, Camp was established, and duties were assigned and accepted as though we expected to live on this Baltic island for years to come and the smallest detail of the Community life was important.