But if you don't mind eating
some fish and potatoes, you're welcome to what I have."
"I'm sure that's awfully good of you," said Peggy, warmly, "and we love
fish."
"Well, come on in and sit down. This fog won't last forever. I was
chopping wood to get dinner when I heard you coming over the sands. I
don't often have visitors so you'll have to rough it."
So saying, the strange, lone island dweller led them into his hut. It was
rough inside but scrupulously clean. Some attempts had been made to
beautify it by hanging up on the walls shells and curiosities of the
beach. Here and there, too, were panels of rare woods, which the
island-dweller explained had come from the cabins of wrecked ships. A big
cat, his only companion, lay beside the fire and blinked at the visitors,
as if they were an everyday occurrence.
Chairs, fashioned out of barrels and boxes, stood about, some of them
cushioned after a fashion, with sacking stuffed with dried sea weed.
"Sit down," said their host hospitably, "ain't much to boast of in the way
of furniture, but it's the best I can do. Can't expect to find a Waldorf
Hotel on Lost Brig Island."
"You have been in New York, then?" exclaimed Peggy, struck by the
reference.
The man's face underwent a transformation.
"Once, many years ago," he said, "but I never like to talk about it.
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