164 OVER ON THE ISLAND better have another slice of bread—just to sustain me. No, I'd better not. Jean's face appeared suddenly near the birches. "Finish your breakfast?" she inquired sweetly. "I have—and yours, too." "That's quite all right." "What!" "I had breakfast at the farmhouse." And Jean smiled with contentment. "Porritch . . . bacon and eggs . . . and coffee and toast . . ." "And didn't you bring me anything?" From her pockets she drew out five eggs, a bottle of cream, a hunk of butter, and a small bottle of jam. "How much?" "Nothing," she said cheerfully. "They liked my curly hair." "Go back—and see if they'll give you any vegetables for dinner." " It's your turn. Try your face on them." I paid for the vegetables. We did as we had planned. All afternoon we lay on the beach in the blistering sun. The water was inviting, but after a sun-bath it was far too cool. We put off the swim until later . . . later . . . until it was too late. We did develop enough energy once to put one inquisitive toe in—but we soon retreated to the sand, shrinking at the very thought of getting wet. "Cover me up!" "Ouch! Oh, my back . . .!" True enough. "The salve," she moaned. She kept on moaning. When she stopped, I started, and kept right on.