“Oh, don’t cry, Judy,” begged Tommy, who felt that all the world would grow dark if Judy’s staunch heart should fail.  “Don’t cry, Judy.”  She brushed away her tears and smiled at him.  “Well, get up, lazy boy,” she said.

“I’m hungry.”

“Well, go and hunt for something to eat.”

“Don’t know where to look.”

“Neither did Robinson Crusoe.”

“Oh, well, what are you going to do?”

“Watch for some one to come and take us off.”

It began to be exciting.  If Tommy had not been so hungry, he really believed that he might have appreciated the adventure.  But his soul yearned for hot cakes and maple syrup, or beefsteak and waffles—­or at least for plain bread and butter.

“Gee, but it would taste good,” he said aloud.

“What?”

“I was thinking of breakfast,” said poor Tommy, “hot rolls and things like that, Judy.”

“O-o-oh,” said Judy, “how about some hot biscuit, with one of Perkins’ omelettes—­and—­creamed potatoes?”

“Oh, don’t,” groaned hungry Tommy, and fled.

He came back in about two minutes, swaggering with importance.

“This island isn’t so barren as it looks,” he said, pompously.  “You don’t know everything, Judy.”

“Don’t I?”

“No.  Now what do you think of these,” and he produced the two lemons triumphantly.

“Where did you find them?”

“Growing over there,” and he pointed to the scrubby, sage-green spiky bush.

“Who would have believed it?” Judy’s eyes were round and solemn, but the expression in them should have warned Tommy.

“You see there are some things you don’t know.  I’m going to look for oysters now.”

“Oysters—­”

“Yes.  To eat with our lemons.”

“You might find some cracker fruit, and a coffee vine, and maybe there will be a salt and pepper tree somewhere—­and Tommy, please discover a Tabasco bush—­I never could eat my oysters without Tabasco.”

Tommy looked at her wrathfully.  “Aw, Judy,” he said, with a red face, “you’re foolin’—­and I think it’s mean.”

Then a thought struck him, and he examined the lemons carefully.

“You stuck them on that bush,” he accused, excitedly.  “There are holes in them.  You did it to fool me, didn’t you, Judy?”

She nodded.

“An’ you think it’s a joke—­I—­I—­” He could think of nothing sufficiently crushing to say.  “Well, I don’t,” he finished sulkily, and plumped himself down on the sand, with his face away from her.

“Tommy,” she said, after a long silence, “Tommy.”

“Huh?”

“Please be good-natured.”

“Be good-natured yourself,” said Tommy, with a half-sob. 
“I’m—­I’m—­perfectly mis’able, Judy Jameson—­”

It was then that Judy showed that she could be womanly and sympathetic.  “I’m sorry I teased you, Tommy,” she said, softly.  “Let’s make ourselves comfortable here on the sand, and I’ll tell you about when I used to live in Europe.”