"
"That's all you know about it!" broke in the little
man. "The trees are altogether too green and the rocks
are harder than they ought to be. I find the sand very
grainy and the water dreadfully wet. Every breeze makes a
draught and the sun shines in the daytime, when there's
no need of it, and disappears just as soon as it begins
to get dark. If you remain here you'll find the island
very unsatisfactory."
Trot turned to look at him, and her sweet face was
grave and curious.
"I wonder who you are," she said.
"My name is Pessim," said he, with an air of pride.
"I'm called the Observer,"
"Oh. What do you observe?" asked the little girl.
"Everything I see," was the reply, in a more surly
tone. Then Pessim drew back with a startled exclamation
and looked at some footprints in the sand. "Why, good
gracious me!" he cried in distress.
"What's the matter now?" asked Cap'n Bill.
"Someone has pushed the earth in! Don't you see it?
"It isn't pushed in far enough to hurt anything," said
Trot, examining the footprints.
"Everything hurts that isn't right," insisted the man.
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