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next person to speak. He can hold it when he's speaking."
                "But--"
                "Look--"
                "And he won't be interrupted: Except by me."
                Jack was on his feet.
                "We'll have rules!" he cried excitedly. "Lots of rules! Then when anyone breaks 'em--"
                "Whee--oh!"
                "Wacco!"
                "Bong!"
                "Doink!"
                Ralph felt the conch lifted from his lap. Then Piggy was standing cradling the great cream shell and the shouting died down. Jack, left on his feet, looked uncertainly at Ralph who smiled and patted the log. Jack sat down. Piggy took off his glasses and blinked at the assembly while he wiped them on his shirt.
                "You're hindering Ralph. You're not letting him get to the most important thing."
                He paused effectively.
                "Who knows we're here? Eh?"
                "They knew at the airport."
                "The man with a trumpet-thing--"
                "My dad."
                Piggy put on his glasses.
                "Nobody knows where we are," said Piggy. He was paler than before and breathless. "Perhaps they knew where we was going to; and perhaps not. But they don't know where we are 'cos we never got there." He gaped at them for a moment, then swayed and sat down. Ralph took the conch from his hands.
                "That's what I was going to say," he went on, "when you all, all. . . ." He gazed at their intent faces. "The plane was shot down in flames. Nobody knows where we are. We may be here a long time."
                The silence was so complete that they could hear the unevenness of Piggy's breathing. The sun slanted in and lay golden over half the platform. The breezes that on the lagoon had chased their tails like kittens were finding their way across the platform and into the forest. Ralph pushed back the tangle of fair hair that hung on his forehead.
                "So we may be here a long time."
                Nobody said anything. He grinned suddenly.
                "But this is a good island. We--Jack, Simon and me-- we climbed the mountain. It's wizard. There's food and drink, and--"
                "Rocks--"
                "Blue flowers--"
                Piggy, partly recovered, pointed to the conch in Ralph's hands, and Jack and Simon fell silent. Ralph went on.
                "While we're waiting we can have a good time on this island."
                He gesticulated widely.
                "It's like in a book."
                At once there was a clamor.
                "Treasure Island--"
                "Swallows and Amazons--"
                "Coral Island--"
                Ralph waved the conch.
                "This is our island. It's a good island. Until the grownups come to fetch us we'll have fun."
                Jack held out his hand for the conch.
                "There's pigs," he said. "There's food; and bathing water in that little stream along there--and everything. Didn't anyone find anything else?"
                He handed the conch back to Ralph and sat down. Apparently no one had found anything.
                The older boys first noticed the child when he resisted. There was a group of little boys urging him forward and he did not want to go. He was a shrimp of a boy, about six years old, and one side of his face was blotted out by a mulberry-colored birthmark. He stood now, warped out of the perpendicular by the fierce light of publicity, and he bored into the coarse grass with one toe. He was muttering and about to cry.
                The other little boys, whispering but serious, pushed