After swimming and telling stories by the waterfall for most of the day, Gilligan and MaryAnn went back to the clearing to prepare dinner. After dinner, Gilligan asked Mr. Howell to teach him how to play cribbage. Mr. Howell agreed, while Skipper and Professor looked on. With the three men shouting directions and suggestions to Gilligan throughout the evening, he wasn't sure that cribbage was the game for him. He might just stick to Go Fish and SlapJack. Nevertheless, it was a lively evening in the compound with companionship, conversation and laughter.

That night, a storm ravaged the island. In the morning, MaryAnn found her garden in shambles. So she was quite preoccupied, putting things back together. She raked and cleaned and tried to salvage what plants she could. As she worked, her mind wandered and eventually settled where she knew it would . . . on a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed, dimpled sailor with a knack for chaos. She smiled absent-mindedly as she pictured him working on the Minnow . . . walking the beach at Waikiki . . . conking Skipper over the head with a bamboo post . . . stomping through the jungle . . . wildly beating invisible drums as he listened to the radio . . . sitting by the waterfall with his skin all tan and glistening . . . "Oh," she thought. "Where did that come from?" The more she tried to dislodge the image, the harder it stuck.

Meanwhile, back at the clearing, the men were busy, once again, repairing damages to the huts. As Gilligan seemed to be causing more damage than repairs, Skipper sent him to see if the lobster traps had been damaged. On his way, he swung by the garden area. "Hey MaryAnn" he called.

Considering what was on her mind, his voice made her jump. "Oh hi, Gilligan," she replied, a little distracted.

"Want to take a break?" he asked, as he leaned against a tree. "I'm going to check the lobster traps. Maybe with that storm, something interesting washed up on shore." He said hopefully.

MaryAnn had never been with him when he found the treasures that he always seemed to come back with. She had been working for hours and could certainly use the break. "Sure" she said, and she got up and brushed herself off.

Their walk through the jungle was filled with Gilligan's chatter. It was "Skinny Mulligan this" and "Florence Oppenheimer that". MaryAnn was happy that he was feeling so talkative. He kept her laughing with his different voices and antics while acting out his stories.

When they got to the shore, Gilligan pulled out the lobster traps. They weren't in bad shape at all and even had a few lobsters inside. He put them in the basket that was slung over his shoulder, and they continued on down the shore, heading to the lagoon. As they followed the coastline, MaryAnn was the first to spot the crate.

"Oooohh, look, Gilligan. There is something! There's a crate there. Look" She was clapping her hands and jumping up and down. Gilligan started clapping, too, as her excitement was contagious.

He ran over and pulled it further onto the beach. It was about a foot high and unmarked. Gilligan started to loosen the boards and was able to pry off the top. He pulled out straw packing, and they both fell back into a sitting position with their mouths hanging open and starting to water. It was a case of root beer - 24 glass bottles of root beer!

They looked at each other and screamed in delight. They clapped and hugged and clapped again.

"Come on" Gilligan said. "Let's get this back to camp." They each took an end and worked their way back, too excited to talk much.

As they got closer to the clearing, Gilligan started to shout. "Hey Everyone – meet us at the table. We've got something!" He wanted to run, but was mindful that the crate was a little heavy for MaryAnn. Finally, they got there and lifted the crate up onto the table. The other castaways, hearing his shouts, were waiting for them.

"What is it, What is it?" Ginger was squealing. The Howells were hoping for cash, precious gems or even an updated issue of the New York Stock Exchange. The Skipper was hoping for a case of steaks, and the Professor was hoping for an inflatable raft or some other way off the island.

"Look, look, look!" Gilligan said as he ripped off the cover. "ROOT BEER!" He and MaryAnn were jumping up and down and clapping again.

"Root Beer?" Skipper grumbled. "That's it? Real beer maybe, but Root Beer?"

The Professor bowed his head and rubbed his hands over his eyes and Ginger deflated. Mr. Howell may have cried a little. With a little wave of her hanky, Mrs. Howell gave an "Oh, pooh" and retreated to her hut.

Gilligan and MaryAnn looked at each other and shrugged. "Let's put some in the stream to cool for dinner tonight, Gilligan," she suggested.

"Great idea, MaryAnn," he answered. And he grabbed 7 bottles and hurried off towards the stream.

That evening, Gilligan retrieved the bottles while MaryAnn and Ginger brought dinner to the table. After the initial disappointment, the other castaways were able to laugh the incident away and enjoy a cold root beer with their meal. Spirits were high, and the island family had a lively conversation flowing.

MaryAnn was the first to finish off her bottle. She had it in her hand and was about to set it on the table, when Gilligan's hand shot out and took the empty bottle. "I'll take that," he said. "It's a bottle for Margaret." At that precise moment, there was a lull in the conversation, so six pairs of ears picked up Gilligan's casual comment.

There was a chorus of "Who?", "What?", "Who's Margaret" and one "Gilligan, what are you talking about?" Gilligan looked around as he took the bottle from MaryAnn.

"Margaret." He said, as if everyone should know who she was. "She was a nice lady who lived in Honolulu. She took bottles in for refunds." That was all he seemed to want to say on the matter, so the others went back to their conversations. However, Gilligan noticed that, one by one, as they finished their root beers, they left the empty bottles in a pile in front of him.

After dinner, as the girls were cleaning up the dishes, Gilligan took the empty bottles and carefully placed them back in the crate. Then he grabbed another handful of full bottles and brought them to the stream to cool for the next day. Just thinking about it made him lick his lips.

Afterwards, he took a stroll through the jungle and collected a basket of fruit to bring back to the table for either an evening snack or possibly breakfast in the morning. While he walked, his mind drifted to Honolulu, to a certain conversation he had had with Margaret.

She was a nice lady and very easy to talk to. They were sitting on a bench by the waterway on Ala Moana Boulevard, not far from where they first met. A group of teenage girls was walking by, giggling, and Gilligan was watching them pass with a cautious look on his face. "Why are you so afraid of girls, William?" she asked softly. She was one of the few people, besides his parents, who called him that.

He hung his head and shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"Yes, you do," she chuckled. "Tell me about it," she said as she hooked her arm through his.

He sighed. "I had bad luck with girls since Junior High. There were some things that happened. Kids laughed at me a lot. Girls did, especially." He looked back up at the sidewalk and watched the girls, who had stopped to talk to two boys. Margaret didn't miss the look in his eyes.

"Do you think they were really laughing at you? Maybe they were just giggling about how cute you were," she offered.

"No," he said. "They were laughing at me. This one girl, in high school . . . she was a cheerleader and kind of snooty. I was walking by her in the hallway one day, and some kids ran by and bumped into me. I fell into her and knocked her books out of her hands. I said sorry, but she got so mad. She started yelling – at me, not them. They were her friends, so she yelled at me." He clenched his fists. Margaret put her hand on his and tried to calm him.

"So in the middle of the hallway, she just starts yelling at me. She said I was stupid and clumsy. And then she laughed and said that no girl would ever, ever want me for a boyfriend. Why did she say that? I didn't do anything to her. Why would she say that to me?" He looked at her with such a heartbroken face. "I know I'm not smart. I know I'm clumsy. I can't help it. I try . . . I do. Why don't girls like me?" Margaret hugged him and smiled.

"Someday, you're going to meet a wonderful girl, and she's going to see what a gem you are. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, William, but I promise. When you least expect it, she'll be there."

Gilligan was approaching the clearing again and snapped out of his reverie. The torches were lit and everyone was sitting in a circle of chairs around the campfire, talking and laughing. He saw that there was a bit of an opening by MaryAnn, so he dropped the basket of fruit on the table, grabbed a banana and went over to sit by her.

She put her hand on his shoulder as he sat on the ground by her feet, peeling his banana and taking a huge bite. "There you are, Gilligan. We've been waiting for you. Tell us about Margaret. You made her sound so mysterious. Was she a pretty girl you knew?"

Gilligan choked on his banana and Mrs. Howell pounded on his back. "No. Gosh, no," he exclaimed. "She was just a nice lady I knew."

"Well, how'd you meet her?" Skipper asked. "Did I know her?"

"I don't think so," Gilligan said. "She lived in the park by the waterway."

"She lived IN the park?" asked Mrs. Howell. "Oh dear. How did that happen?"

"Well, she said it was a . . . a series of sad events. That's how she described it. She used to have an apartment, but after losing her job and getting sick, she couldn't afford it." He took another big bite of banana as he pondered his story. He also noticed that MaryAnn's hand was still on his shoulder, and it made him feel all warm inside.

"I met her one day, in town. She was pushing a baby carriage. That's what she kept her stuff in. Some kids rode by on bikes and knocked her carriage over, and her stuff spilled out. I stopped and helped her pick it up." He finished his banana and threw the peel into the campfire, watching it burn slowly.

"The nerve," exclaimed Mr. Howell. "Did the hooligans even stop?"

"No, they sure didn't," said Gilligan. "So I'm helping her, right, and there was this metal box that popped open. A picture was on the sidewalk, so I picked it up and handed it to her. It was a beautiful girl standing next to a horse. She said to me, 'hard to believe that was me, isn't it?' It sure was . . . hard to believe, I mean. Now, she's pretty old and wrinkled."

Ginger was thoughtful about this. "Sometimes, in Hollywood, I would pass by homeless people on the sidewalk. It's hard to remember that they are real people with lives and histories," she said sadly.

Gilligan nodded sadly. "So after we picked her stuff up, I walked back to the park with her, and she told me all about how she used to be a rodeo girl. When she got older, she moved to Oahu and worked on a ranch. But a few years ago, the owner of the ranch died and the son sold it and let all the workers go. Just after that, she got real sick, and then she couldn't find work. Just when she was starting to feel better, she got evicted. She couldn't get the landlord to wait 'til she found work."

The scoundrel, thought Mr. Howell.

Gilligan continued. "I thought it was a real sad story, but she was so nice. She told me that she collected bottles for the refunds, to help buy food, so I started collecting them for her, too."

The other castaways sat, staring into the fire, each lost in their own thoughts about this poor woman and the hard times that she suffered.

MaryAnn leaned over towards Gilligan and hugged him. "Gilligan," she said, "Has anyone ever told you what a gem you are?"