An American Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

One evening Robinson sat in his shelter thinking of his plans to escape to Friday's country. He was sad. For, after all, this place was very dear to him. It was the only home he had. Had he not made everything with his own hands? It was doubly dear to him on this account. He thought how it would grieve him to leave his goats, his fields, and the many comforts he had here.

He had been telling Friday of his home in New York. He told him of the great city, and of its many wonderful sights. He told him of his country and people, of his flag and its history. All these things brought back memories of his boyhood and he wondered what changes had come in his long absence. Friday, with wonderful intelligence, listened to all Robinson told him. He was delighted in hearing Robinson tell of the wonders of the great world, for he had never known anything about it. As they talked Robinson noticed the approach of a storm. The sky was getting black with clouds. The winds were blowing a hurricane. The waves were coming in mountain high. It reminded him of the eventful night now twenty-five years ago when his ship was tossed up on the shore like an egg shell and broken to pieces.