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course. An ax is a sort of house-building tool.”
    â€œBut we haven’t any steel, or any way to forge it.”
    â€œI know, Danny. But I said before that we are back in the Stone Age. Now these islands are volcanic, so perhaps we can find some obsidian.”
    â€œObsidian? Oh, yes, the Indians made arrowheads out of it. It’s volcanic glass, isn’t it?”
    â€œExactly. It’s very hard, and forms a sharp edge when broken. Perhaps we can make a stone ax.”
    â€œHave you ever made one?” Danny asked.
    â€œEr—no. But I know the theory. Let’s try it.”
    They searched about among the spiky plants until at last Danny found a chunk of dark-brown, glassy-looking stone as large as a football. A piece was broken off one end, and the inside was almost as shiny as a mirror.
    Without thinking, Danny dashed it against a large black rock that rose out of the earth. The obsidian flew apart with a crack and splinters of it sailed past the Professor’s legs.
    â€œOh, gosh! I’m sorry,” Danny gulped. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
    â€œI’m afraid not,” the Professor said, looking ruefully at the many small bits of stone. “Remember, Dan, a scientist must not jump headlong into something. Luckily, none of them hit me.”
    He bent over. “Ah, you were doubly lucky. Here’s one piece that might do, with a little shaping.”
    He had found a lump somewhat larger than his hand, thick at one end with a sharp, brittle razor edge at the other. He got a piece of lava and slowly chipped away bits of obsidian until he had made a rough, wedge-shaped head. Meantime, Danny went a little way into the forest and broke off a tough branch about three feet long. With his pocketknife he trimmed off the twigs and split one end of it, carving away some of the wood on the inside of the cleft so that the ax-head could be wedged into it without splitting the wood all the way down.
    â€œNow,” said the Professor, “let’s see if it works.”
    He forced the stone head into the cleft and tied it firmly in place, using some of the light, strong line from the raft’s emergency chest.
    He bowed to Danny. “Will you try first, or shall I?” he asked with a smile.
    â€œAfter you, Professor,” Danny answered.
    The Professor swung the ax, and brought it down at an angle in the trunk of a sapling. It bit deep.
    He let go the handle. “My goodness!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “It works!”
    â€œDidn’t you know it would?” Danny said.
    The Professor cleared his throat. “Theory and practice don’t always go hand in hand,” he said. “I wasn’t sure.”
    Their talk ended abruptly as two figures came into view between the trees. Danny shaded his eyes and stared.
    â€œIt’s Dr. Grimes,” he said. “And he has some kind of strange animal with him—like a big, piebald monkey!”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Home, Sweet Home
    It wasn’t strange that Danny didn’t recognize his friend. Joe’s face and arms were covered with a film of green-brown mud. He wore no shirt, and the white color of his chest was startling against the dark mud. He carried what looked like a dirty old burlap bag, but when he came closer they could see it was his shirt, full of large, melon-shaped fruits.
    â€œWhat on earth—” the Professor began.
    â€œWe found a stream,” Joe interrupted. “And these fruits. There are lots more back up in the woods. Bananas, too, growing right on the trees.”
    â€œIf you found a stream,” the Professor remarked, “why didn’t you wash yourself off?”
    Joe looked down at himself. “I tried,” he said ruefully. “The stuff’s sticky, like glue. It won’t come off.”
    â€œWhat happened?” asked Professor Bullfinch.
    â€œWe climbed up the rocks until we entered the forest,” Dr. Grimes