Though space was ample enough as regards the colony in general, it was somewhat limited as regards detail.  To live pele-mele in Rockhouse was entirely out of the question.  Independently of accommodation, a thousand reasons of propriety opposed such an arrangement.  Whether or not there might be another cave in the neighborhood, hollowed out by Nature, was not known; if there were, it had still to be discovered.  Chance would not be chance, if it were undeviating and certain in its operations.  To consign the Wolstons to Falcon’s Nest or Prospect Hill, and leave them there alone, even though under the protection of Willis, could not be thought of; they knew nothing of the dangers that would surround them, and as yet they were ignorant of the topography of the island.  It was, therefore, requisite that both families should continue in proximity, so as to aid each other in moments of peril, but without, at the same time, outraging propriety, or shackling individual freedom of action.  Under ordinary circumstances, these difficulties might have been solved by taking apartments on the opposite side of the street, or renting a house next door.  But, alas! the blessings of landlords and poor-rates had not yet been bestowed on the island.

One day after dinner, when these points were under consideration, Willis, who was accustomed to disappear after each meal, no one knew why or whereto, came and took his place amongst them under the gallery.

“As for myself,” said the Pilot, “I do not wish to live anywhere.  Since I am in your house, Mr. Becker, and cannot get away honestly for a quarter of an hour, I must of course remain; but as for becoming a mere dependant on your bounty, that I will not suffer.”

“What you say there is not very complimentary to me,” said Mr. Wolston.

“Your position, Mr. Wolston, is a very different thing:  besides, you are an invalid and require attention, whilst I am strong and healthy, for which I ought to be thankful.”

“You are not in my house,” replied Becker “any more than I am in yours; the place we are in is a shelter provided by Providence for us all, and I venture to suppose that such a host is rich enough to supply all our wants.  I am only the humble instrument distributing the gifts that have been so lavishly bestowed on this island.”

“What you say is very kind and very generous,” added Willis, “but I mean to provide for myself—­that is my idea.”

“And not a bad one either,” continued Becker; “but how?  You are welcome here to do the work for four—­if you like; and then, supposing you eat for two, I will be your debtor, not you mine.”

“Work! and at what? walking about with a rifle on my shoulder; airing myself, as I am doing now under your gallery, in the midst of flowers, on the banks of a river:  or opening my mouth for quails to jump down my throat ready roasted—­would you call that work?”

“Look there, Willis—­what do you see?”