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Barty Crusoe and His Man Saturday

"I'm afraid it hasn't stopped for long," the Good Wolf answered. "I don't like the look of this at all."

A big drop fell on Barty's nose and made him jump.

"That was a 'mense drop of rain!" he cried out; "and it felt as heavy as a stone."

"That's what I don't like," the Good Wolf said. "When the rain comes down it will come in a deluge, and if the wind doesn't blow us over the cliff the deluge will half drown us."

Barty gave another jump, but this time it was not because a raindrop had startled him. It was because he heard something a few yards away behind him. It was a squeaky, gibbering little voice, and it sounded as if it said something very much like this:

"Chatterdy-chatterdy-chat-chat-chatterdy. Chat-chatter-chat!"

Barty heard it because the wind had stopped blowing and everything seemed for a few moments to be quite still. He stood up to look.

"It's the black thing!" he cried out. "It's one of the black monkeys who has followed us. He keeps popping his head in and out of a hole."

"I thought it was about time," the Good Wolf remarked. "Let us go and look at the hole."

"Chat-chat-chattery, chattery-chatterdy," said the black monkey, as if he were telling them to come.

They went to look, and as they drew near it the monkey kept darting in and out and chattering all the time.

The hole was in a piece of rock which stood out of the cliff. The opening was just big enough to crawl into.

"If we can get in it will keep the rain off us," cried Barty, and he went right down on his stomach and crawled in to see if there was room enough.

"Chattery-chattery-chat-chat-chatterdy," said the black monkey, running before him.

Almost as soon as Barty had crawled into the hole he gave a shout. He found he had crawled into an open place like a room, with walls of rock, and on one side there was actually an opening like a window, which looked out on the sea.

"It's a cave! It's a cave!" he called back to the Good Wolf, and the Good Wolf came scrambling in after him.

"It's a cave in the cliff," he said, "and the storm may do what it likes; it can't touch us. We found it just in time."

They were only just in time, for at that very moment there came a great bellowing roar of thunder and a great rushing roar of rain. But it was all outside and they were safe and warm, and Barty danced for joy, and the black monkey danced too.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE tropical storm went on. The thunder crashed and the lightning flashed and the rain poured down in torrents. Barty had never heard such a noise in his life, but inside the cave everything was dry and warm and comfortable. The floor was covered with fine white sparkling sand, like a wonderful new kind of carpet. The walls and roof were made of white rock which sparkled also. The Good Wolf sat down on the white sand floor and smiled cheerfully. Barty sat down, too, and the black monkey sat down at the same time, because he was still perched on Barty's shoulder. He seemed an affectionate monkey, for he put one funny arm round the little boy's neck and leaned a black cheek against his curly hair.

"Come down and sit on my knee," Barty said to him, "I want to look at you. I never had a monkey for a friend in all my life before."

The black monkey jumped down on to his knee as if he had learned boys' language in his cradle. He could only chatter monkey chatter himself, but it was quite plain that he understood Barty. He was funny when he sat down and folded his tiny hands before him, as if he were waiting to hear what was going to be said to him.

"He has such nice eyes," said Barty. "I believe he is asking me to tell him to do something."

"Yes, that's what he wants," replied the Good Wolf. "That is what he came for. I knew he was coming. That was why I asked you if you had seen something black."

"Was it?" said Barty. "You know all about this desert island, don't you?"

"Yes," the Good Wolf answered. "Every single thing," and he said it with such a peculiar smile that Barty knew there was some secret in his mind and he wondered what it was, but he did not ask because he felt sure that the Good Wolf would tell him some time.

The black monkey was looking at him so eagerly and with such a funny expression that Barty could not help laughing.

"His face is so tiny and wrinkled that he looks like a baby a hundred years old – only babies never are a hundred years old," he said. "Will you stay with me?" he asked the monkey. "If I were really Robinson Crusoe and you were bigger you might be my Man Friday."

"Chat-chat – chattery-chatterdy-chatterdy," replied the little black creature, getting so excited that he quite jumped up and down as if he could not keep still. He chattered so hard and his chatter sounded so much as if he were talking that it made Barty laugh more than ever and put a queer new thought into his head.

"It seems as if he were trying to say Saturday," he cried out. "Perhaps he is saying it in monkey language. I'm going to call him that. If he isn't a Man Friday he can be a Man Saturday." And Man Saturday seemed so pleased and the Good Wolf thought it such a good idea, that Barty was delighted and hugged his new little black friend quite tight in his arms.

"Things get nicer and nicer," he chuckled. "I wouldn't have missed coming to this desert island for anything."

Tropical storms come very quickly and go very quickly. Suddenly this one seemed to end all at once. The thunder stopped and the lightning stopped and the rain was over and the huge black cloud disappeared and out came the blazing sun looking as if it were pretending that it had never been hidden at all.

Barty and the Good Wolf went to look out through the big hole in the wall of the cave which was like a window. Everything was sparkling and blue and green and splendid again.

The sea, and the sky, and the grass, and the trees all looked so beautiful that Barty stood and gazed out of the window for about five minutes, forgetting everything else. Then suddenly he turned and looked around the cave.

"Where is Saturday?" he cried out.

The Good Wolf turned and looked about too, and after he had done it he shook his ears in a mystified way.

"I don't see him anywhere," he said. "He is not in that corner and he is not in that one, and he is not in that one, and he is not in the other one. If he were in the middle we should see him, of course."

"I am sure he wouldn't run away," said Barty. "I feel quite sure he wouldn't. He had such a nice look in his eyes and I know he took me for his friend. And I took him for mine. When people are friends they don't run away."

"Oh no," answered the Good Wolf. "Certainly not. Let us walk slowly all round the cave and look very carefully. This cave is a queer shape and it may have corners we can't see just at first."

So they walked round side by side and looked very carefully indeed. Once they walked round, twice they walked round, three times they walked round, and then they stopped and looked at each other. The Good Wolf sat down and scratched his ear with his hind foot in a very careful manner, and Barty put his hands in his pockets and whistled a little, quite thoughtfully. But almost the very next minute he cheered up and his face beamed all over.

"Why," he exclaimed, "you see, if he is my Man Saturday, he has things to do for me! I've not lived on a desert island long enough to know what they are, but I daresay they are very important. I believe he has gone to do something for me which he knows is his duty."

The Good Wolf stopped scratching his ear with his hind foot and became as cheerful as Barty.

"Of course!" he exclaimed emphatically. "You are a very clever boy to think of that. You always think of the right things at the right time, instead of thinking of the right things at the wrong time or the wrong things at the right time, which is very confusing."

"Shall we go outside and see if he is anywhere about?" said Barty.

"That is a good idea, too," responded the Good Wolf. "You are full of good ideas, and they are the most useful things a person can have on a desert island."

They walked down the cave – it was rather a long cave – towards the narrow passage which led from the hole outside to which Saturday had led Barty. As they came to the entrance to it they both drew back to look at something very queer which was coming towards them through the passage itself. It certainly was the queerest thing Barty had ever beheld since he had been a boy, and the Good Wolf himself looked as if it seemed a queer thing even to him. It would have seemed queer to you, too. What it really was Barty could not possibly have told, but what it looked like was a bundle of dried leaves bound together by long grass and walking over the ground by itself as if it were alive.

"It is walking, isn't it?" asked Barty, too much astonished to be sure his eyes did not deceive him.

"It certainly is," the Good Wolf replied, "there is no mistake about that, and though I am Noah's Ark Wolf and have lived for ages and ages, I have never seen a bundle of dry leaves walk before. It is very interesting, indeed." He actually sat down to watch it and Barty leaned forward with his hands on his knees and gazed with all his might. On it came. It did not walk fast at all, but rather slowly as if it found it rather hard to get along – which seemed very natural, because no bundle of dried leaves could have had much practice in walking.

It walked past them and it walked the full length of the cave until it reached the corner nearest the window.

"It's stopping," called out Barty, and the next minute he called out again: "It's lying down."

It did lie down, almost as if it were tired, but it did not lie still more than a minute. It rolled over on its side and lay there, and there was a scuffling and a couple of black legs were to be seen kicking themselves loose, and a pair of black arms twisting themselves from under it, and a little black wrinkled face and head with cunning, bright eyes pushed themselves out, and the minute Barty saw them he shouted aloud with glee:

"Saturday! Saturday! Saturday!" he cried out. "It was Man Saturday all the time. He was carrying the bundle of leaves himself and it was so big and he was so little and the leaves hung down so that we didn't see him."

Man Saturday came running across to his little master. It was plain to be be seen that he was so pleased about something that he did not know what to do. He caught hold of Barty's hand and chatterdy-chattered at him and tried to pull him towards the corner.

"He wants me to do something," said Barty. "He brought the leaves for something. He wants me to find out what they are for."

Man Saturday danced before him to the corner where the bundle of leaves lay. He began to pull at the twigs which tied them together, and Barty knelt down and helped him.

"I'm sure they are for something important," he said. "I am going to think very hard."

He stood up and put his hands in his pockets and he stood astride because boys can often think harder when they stand that way. Man Saturday tried to imitate him, but as he hadn't any pockets he put his hands on his hips and held his head on one side while he watched Barty with his sharp little eyes, all eagerness to see if he would find out what he meant. He looked so funny.

"You couldn't eat them however loose your belt was," Barty said, looking at the leaves. "And you couldn't drink them even if you were dreadfully thirsty – and you couldn't wear them even if your clothes were worn out as Robinson Crusoe's were. Even if you had a needle and thread to stitch them together they would break to pieces because they are so dry and brittle."

"Yes, they are very dry," remarked the Good Wolf, quietly.

And then all in a minute Barty felt sure he knew.

"If there were enough of them you could lie down on them," he said in great excitement. "That's what they are for! Saturday knows where there are more of them and they are for a bed." When he said that, Man Saturday gave a squeak of delight and he immediately caught at Barty's hand and began to pull him towards the passage which was the way out of the cave.

"He has got a store of them somewhere," said the Good Wolf, "and it is a place where the rain could not reach it. Let us trot along and see."

Barty and Man Saturday were trotting along already, at least Man Saturday was trotting and Barty was creeping through the passage, and in two minutes he was out on the side of the cliff again and standing upon the ledge outside the cave. It was a very convenient ledge, and you could walk nearly all round the cliff on it. It was the kind of ledge you would only find on a desert island like Barty's – a really nice desert island.

Man Saturday led the way, and after a few yards they came to a place where some trees and bushes hung over the edge, and beneath them was a hole in the rock, rather like a very little cave, and there were a great many leaves near the entrance to it. Anyone could see how they had got there. They were blown from the trees and bushes, and when Barty bent down and peeped into the hole he saw that it was full of leaves which had been blowing in there for years until the tiny cave seemed almost stuffed with them. No rain could reach them and so they were quite nice and dry.

The hole was too small for Barty to crawl into, but it was more than large enough for Man Saturday, and chattering to Barty as fast as he could he crawled in and began to put together another bundle. He got the twigs from a bush close by and he pushed leaves out to Barty, so that he might help him.

It was great fun for Barty. He knew he could carry quite a bundle, and so he made a big one and when it was done he carried it back to his cave and pushed it before him when he crawled through the passage. Man Saturday brought one suited to his own size, because he was determined to work, too. Then they went back and made more bundles and the Good Wolf carried a big one on his back. In about half an hour the corner of the cave had a beautiful soft, heaped up, dry leaf bed in it, and Barty was rolling over and jumping and turning somersaults on it, and Man Saturday was jumping about with him. The leaves were piled so high and were so springy to jump on that it was like dancing in a hay stack, but rather nicer.

"Now," said Barty, stopping a minute to take breath after turning six somersaults on end, "we have a beautiful bath and we have a house and we have a bed and we have a Man Saturday – and we found something to eat when we looked, and I believe we shall find something more when we look again. I think just now I will lie down and have a sleep. Running very hard in storms does make you sleepy."

"That's a good idea, too," answered the Good Wolf. "I believe I should like to curl up and get a few thousand winks myself. Forty wouldn't be enough."

And he did curl up at the bottom of Barty's big bed of leaves, and almost before he had time to do it Barty had curled up, too, like a squirrel in a nest, and he was fast asleep – and so was little Man Saturday, who curled up close beside him.