d the man, who was as much interested
as the naturalists of the party. "But there are such a lot of good
things to see that one seems to shove the other out of your head. Now,
what will that chap be doing there, slithering about over the water?
Out for a walk?"

"Trying to catch one of those bright little sunbirds, I suppose," said
Rodd.

"No," said the doctor, who was watching the serpent through his glass.
"I should say that one is after birds' nests."

"Think of that!" cried Joe. "But he wouldn't blow the eggs, sir, would
he, and make a string?"

"No, my man," said the doctor, smiling, "but swallow them, I should say,
or the young birds that he might find in the nest. Why, Rodd, my boy,
one wants three or four lives here, and then one wouldn't see half the
wonders of this paradise. Here's world within world of wonder and
beauty."

"Row away, my lads," said the Spaniard, who seemed to have only one
object in life, and that the re-lighting of cigarettes.

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the men, and they dipped their oars again.

Then on turning a bend of the stream there was a waft of warm wind to
fan their cheeks, when the sailors forward stepped the mast, and hoisted
the yard of the lug-sail, which filled out at once, the rowers laid in
their dripping oars, which seemed to shed diamonds and pearls back into
the stream, and away they glided among the glories of the low flat land,
through which streams seemed to run like veins, forming a perfect maze
of waterways, each if possible more beautiful than the other, while
proving wonderfully similar in width and depth, so much so that at last,
after winding round bend after bend of the last stream they had entered,
the doctor turned suddenly to their guide and said--

"Why, captain, how are we going to find the way back again?"

The captain opened his eyes slightly and smiled, as he took a little
compass from his pocket.

"With this," he said; "but--pah! I could find my way here with my eyes
shut. Look; there's a good place for a fire, and the boys here can get
plenty of good fish, if you have a line, for the men to cook."

At this suggestion Joe Cross handed the tiller to Rodd and made his way
forward to the locker, from which he produced a couple of fishing-lines.

The boat was run ashore at a similar patch of sand to that where they
had made their previous halt, and while some of the men were collecting
dead wood from beneath the trees, there was a sudden rush