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Updated: May 18, 2025
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.
"Nevertheless, a plucked bird or a skinned Ork would be of no value to himself, so we needn't brag of our usefulness after we are dead. But for the sake of argument, friend Pessim, I'd like to know what good you would be, were you not alive?" "Never mind that," said Cap'n Bill. "He isn't much good as he is."
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.
Then he placed beside her the six purple berries each one being about as big as the tiny Trot's head and all preparations being now made the old sailor ate his lavender berry and became very small wooden leg and all! Cap'n Bill stumbled sadly in trying to climb over the edge of the sunbonnet and pitched in beside Trot headfirst, which caused the unhappy Pessim to laugh with glee.
Oh, dear!" he finally gasped, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "This is too rich! It's almost too joyful to be true." "I don't see anything funny about it," remarked Trot indignantly. "You would if you'd had my experience," said Pessim, getting upon his feet and gradually resuming his solemn and dissatisfied expression of countenance. "The same thing happened to me." "Oh, did it?
"I won't be after I get to the shed," replied the sailor-man. "Then do me a favor, please," begged Pessim, walking briskly along behind them, for they were hastening to the shed. "Depends on what it is," said Cap'n Bill. "I wish you would take my umbrella down to the shore and hold it over the poor fishes till it stops raining. I'm afraid they'll get wet," said Pessim.
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