Scillies--Good Lord, it can't be Madeira, yet?"

"I thought you were fond of legends and lies and fables," said
Turnbull, grimly. "Perhaps it's Atlantis."

"Of course, it might be," answered the other, quite innocently
and gravely; "but I never thought the story about Atlantis was
very solidly established."

"Whatever it is, we are running on to it," said Turnbull,
equably, "and we shall be shipwrecked twice, at any rate."

The naked-looking nose of land projecting from the unknown island
was, indeed, growing larger and larger, like the trunk of some
terrible and advancing elephant. There seemed to be nothing in
particular, at least on this side of the island, except shoals of
shellfish lying so thick as almost to make it look like one of
those toy grottos that the children make. In one place, however,
the coast offered a soft, smooth bay of sand, and even the
rudimentary ingenuity of the two amateur mariners managed to run
up the little ship with her prow well on shore and her bowsprit
pointing upward, as in a sort of idiotic triumph.

They tumbled on shore and began to unload the vessel, setting the
stores out in rows upon the sand with something of the solemnity
of boys playing at pirates. There were Mr. Wilkinson's
cigar-boxes and Mr. Wilkinson's dozen of champagne and Mr.
Wilkinson's tinned salmon and Mr. Wilkinson's tinned tongue and
Mr. Wilkinson's tinned sardines, and every sort of preserved
thing that could be seen at the Army and Navy stores. Then MacIan