(As the raft glides into the still waters beyond the reef, we can see it more clearly.  Can it be JILL’S bed, with OLIVER in his pyjamas perched on the rail, and holding up his bath-towel?  Does he shorten sail for a moment to thump his chest and say, “But OLIVER was made of stern mettle”?  Or is it——­)

(But the sun is sinking behind the swamp where the rattlesnakes bask.  For a moment longer the sail gleams like copper in its rays, and then—­fizz-z—­we have lost it.  See!  Is that speck on the inky black waters the dauntless Oliver?  It is.  Let us follow to the island and see what adventures befall him.)

SCENE II.—­It is the island which we have dreamed about all our lives.  But at present we cannot see it properly, for it is dark.  In one of those tropical darknesses which can be felt rather than seen OLIVER hands JILL out of the boat.

OLIVER.  Tread carefully, Jill, there are lots of deadly rattlesnakes about.

JILL (stepping hastily back into the boat).  Oli-ver!

OLIVER.  You hear the noise of their rattles sometimes when the sun is sinking behind the swamp. (The deadly rattle of the rattlesnake is heard) There!

JILL.  Oh, Oliver, are they very deadly?  Because if they are, I don’t think I shall like your island.

OLIVER.  Those aren’t.  I always have their teeth taken out when ladies are coming.  Besides, it’s daylight now.

(With a rapidity common in the tropics—­although it may just be OLIVER’S gallantry—­the sun climbs out of the sea, and floods the island, JILL, no longer frightened, steps out of the boat, and they walk up to the clearing in the middle.)

JILL (looking about her).  Oh, what a lovely island!  I think it’s lovely, Oliver.

OLIVER (modestly).  It’s pretty decent, isn’t it?  Won’t you lie down?  I generally lie down here and watch the turtles coming out of the sea to deposit their eggs on the sand.

JILL (lying down).  How many do they de-deposit usually, Oliver?

OLIVER.  Oh, three—­or a hundred.  Just depends how hungry I am.  Have a bull’s-eye, won’t you?

JILL (excitedly).  Oh, did you bring some?

OLIVER (annoyed).  Bring some? (Brightening up) Oh, you mean from the wreck?

JILL (hastily).  Yes, from the wreck.  I mean besides the axe and the bag of nails and the gunpowder.

OLIVER.  Couldn’t.  The ship sank with all hands before I could get them.  But it doesn’t matter, because (going up to one of the trees) I recognise this as the bull’s-eye tree. (He picks a couple of bull’s-eyes and gives one to her.)

JILL.  Oh, Oliver, how lovely!  Thank you. (She puts it in her mouth.)

OLIVER (sucking hard).  There was nothing but breadfruit trees here the first time I was marooned on it.  Rotten things to have on a decent island.  So I planted a bull’s-eye tree, and a barley-sugar-cane grove, and one or two other things, and made a jolly ripping place of it.