MAROONED 125 



sand-flats. Mice, crickets, sand-hoppers 

 the cat had no need to go hungry or unoccu- 

 pied. She went all over house and shed 

 again, from foundation to roof and chimney 

 top, yowling from time to time in a great 

 hollow, melancholy voice that might have 

 been heard all across the island had there 

 been anyone to hear, and again, from time 

 to time, meowing in small piteous tones no 

 bigger than a kitten's. For hours at a time 

 when hunger did not drive her to the hunt, 

 she would sit expectant on the window-ledge, 

 or before the door, or on the verandah steps, 

 hoping that at any instant door or window 

 might open, and dear familiar voices call her 

 in. When she did go hunting, she hunted 

 with peculiar ferocity, as if to avenge herself 

 for some great but dimly apprehended wrong. 

 In spite of her loneliness and grief, the 

 life of the island prisoner during the next 

 two or three weeks was by no means one of 

 hardship. Besides her abundant food of 

 birds and mice, she quickly learned to catch 

 tiny fish in the mouth of the rivulet, where 

 salt water and fresh water met. It was an 

 exciting game, and she became expert at 

 dashing the grey tour-cod and blue-and-silver 

 sand-lance far up the slope with a sweep of 

 her armed paw. But when the equinoctial 



