Moreover, as the Camp came into being, this sense of a community developed, proving that we were a definite whole, and not merely separate human beings living for a while in tents upon a desert island.  Each fell willingly into the routine.  Sangree, as by natural selection, took upon himself the cleaning of the fish and the cutting of the wood into lengths sufficient for a day’s use.  And he did it well.  The pan of water was never without a fish, cleaned and scaled, ready to fry for whoever was hungry; the nightly fire never died down for lack of material to throw on without going farther afield to search.

And Timothy, once reverend, caught the fish and chopped down the trees.  He also assumed responsibility for the condition of the boat, and did it so thoroughly that nothing in the little cutter was ever found wanting.  And when, for any reason, his presence was in demand, the first place to look for him was—­in the boat, and there, too, he was usually found, tinkering away with sheets, sails, or rudder and singing as he tinkered.

’Nor was the “reading” neglected; for most mornings there came a sound of droning voices form the white tent by the raspberry bushes, which signified that Sangree, the tutor, and whatever other man chanced to be in the party at the time, were hard at it with history or the classics.

And while Mrs. Maloney, also by natural selection, took charge of the larder and the kitchen, the mending and general supervision of the rough comforts, she also made herself peculiarly mistress of the megaphone which summoned to meals and carried her voice easily from one end of the island to the other; and in her hours of leisure she daubed the surrounding scenery on to a sketching block with all the honesty and devotion of her determined but unreceptive soul.

Joan, meanwhile, Joan, elusive creature of the wilds, became I know not exactly what.  She did plenty of work in the Camp, yet seemed to have no very precise duties.  She was everywhere and anywhere.  Sometimes she slept in her tent, sometimes under the stars with a blanket.  She knew every inch of the island and kept turning up in places where she was least expected—­for ever wandering about, reading her books in sheltered corners, making little fires on sunless days to “worship by to the gods,” as she put it, ever finding new pools to dive and bathe in, and swimming day and night in the warm and waveless lagoon like a fish in a huge tank.  She went bare-legged and bare-footed, with her hair down and her skirts caught up to the knees, and if ever a human being turned into a jolly savage within the compass of a single week, Joan Maloney was certainly that human being.  She ran wild.