are stronger than beaks," said the Good Wolf. "I will go and help her." He went to the place where the green leaves grew, and the minute he came near her the blue and white bird hopped out of his way and hopped on to the nearest bush and sang the little whistling song she had learned from Barty. It sounded so like talking that Barty almost shouted with delight.
"She says 'all right,'" he cried out. "That is bird talk."
The Good Wolf had begun to be very busy himself. He was digging very fast in the earth with his claws. Soon Barty saw he had dug up the root of the green leaves and it looked like a nice potato. He looked quite pleased and excited and went on digging and digging until he had dug up six fine roots and then he sat down by them and panted delightedly, with his nice big red tongue hanging out of his mouth.
"Well," he said, when he found his breath again, "the intelligence of that bird is beyond everything. What would you think of a hot roast potato, when your belt got a little loose again?"
"I should love it," answered Barty. "Sometimes my mother lets me roast a potato for myself, and it is nicer than anything."
The Good Wolf looked down at his six roots and chuckled.
"Blue Crest has shown us something just like potatoes, only nicer. There are plenty of them growing about here. We can always dig them up, and when we have roasted them we can get some of the salt that has dried on the rocks by the sea to eat them with. What do you think of that?"
Barty was too joyful for anything.
"It is just like Robinson Crusoe," he cried out. "Just – just – just! He was always finding things."
"That's the advantage of a Desert Island," answered the Good Wolf. "You find everything when you have looked for it long enough to give you a beautiful appetite. Nobody could live on desert islands if they were not like that."
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN the Good Wolf made his remark about the convenience of desert islands, such a chattering broke out among the black monkeys in the high branches in the cocoanut tree that Barty threw his head back as far as he could to see what was happening.
"Why," he cried out the next instant, "they are all sitting together at the very top of the tree as if they were holding a meeting. I am sure they are talking to each other about something important."
"Perhaps they are talking about us," the Good Wolf said.
"I do think they are," laughed Barty. "They keep turning their heads to look down on us." Then he jumped up and stood on his feet and shouted out to them as he had shouted before. "Hello!" he said. "I don't know whether you are the ones who played in the band at the Snow Feast, but will you be friends? Let us be friends."
They all chattered so fast at this that it seemed as if they had gone crazy.
"You can't understand what they say," said Barty, "but I believe they mean that they will."
"Ah, they'll be friends," the Good Wolf answered. "You see, there is something about you that makes friends."
"Is there?" cried Barty, quite delighted. "I am glad. I wonder what it is that does it?"
"Well, you're a jolly little chap," said the Good Wolf. "You've got such stout little legs, and you always seem to be enjoying yourself."
"I am always enjoying myself," Barty answered. "I'm enjoying myself now 'normously. What shall we do next?"
The Good Wolf scratched behind his right ear, and Barty saw it was that thoughtful sort of scratch of his – the one he scratched when he was turning things over in his mind.
"Well," he said, after being quiet for a few moments, "Robinson Crusoe looked for a good many things that first day, didn't he?"
"Yes, he did," murmured Barty.
"Now what do you think we had better look for first?" the Good Wolf asked him.
"What do you think?" said Barty.
"I want you to tell me," replied the Good Wolf. "It's your desert island, you know, and you ought to take some of the responsibility."
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