54 COLLECTOR'S RAMBLES 



morning declared he could feel the small-pox coming 

 on. He seemed to care little about collecting, and 

 would sit on the rocks by the hour, looking towards 

 the mainland with longing eyes. 



One day I saw him seated under a tree, evidently 

 much interested in a large book. Glancing at it as I 

 passed, I recognized it at once. " Look here, my 

 friend," said I, "you had better drop that book: it 

 belonged to the sick man, and was thrown overboard." 

 Horror and despair were written on his face as, spring- 

 ing to his feet, he shouted, " O Holy Mother ! I have it 

 now intirely ! " and ran up the hill toward the house, 

 making good speed considering his short legs. I after- 

 wards learned he declared at the house that he was 

 dying, and swallowed all the medicine he could beg or 

 buy. 



We were supplied every day with fresh vegetables, 

 and other good things, from the mainland. Sometimes 

 visitors would come to see their friends, but were only 

 allowed to talk to them from a distance. We all did 

 so much rambling about that our clothes, and especially 

 our shoes, became sadly dilapidated. Worse still, we 

 were unable to procure new ones. 



I dared not walk rapidly, lest my shoes, so many 

 times patched and sewed, would go to pieces. 



Barelli had two pairs; and, getting them both wet, 

 he put them on the rocks near the precipice to dry. 

 One of the passengers, mistaking them for old shoes, 



