nted to a neighboring cinchona, and Iris naturally asked why he
selected that particular brand.

"Because it is quinine, not made up in nice little tabloids, but _au
naturel_. It will not be a bad plan if we prepare a strong infusion,
and take a small quantity every morning on the excellent principle that
prevention is better than cure."

The girl laughed.

"Good gracious!" she said; "that reminds me--"

But the words died away on her lips in sudden fright. They were
standing on the level plateau in front of the cave, well removed from
the trees, and they could see distinctly on all sides, for the sun was
sinking in a cloudless sky and the air was preternaturally clear, being
free now from the tremulous haze of the hot hours.

Across the smooth expanse of sandy ground came the agonized shrieks of
a startled bird--a large bird, it would seem--winging its way towards
them with incredible swiftness, and uttering a succession of loud
full-voiced notes of alarm.

Yet the strange thing was that not a bird was to be seen. At that hour
the ordinary feathered inhabitants of the island were quietly nestling
among the branches preparatory to making a final selection of the
night's resting-place. None of them would stir unless actually
disturbed.

Iris drew near to the sailor. Involuntarily she caught his arm. He
stepped a half-pace in front of her to ward off any danger that might
be heralded by this new and uncanny phenomenon. Together they strained
their eyes in the direction of the approaching sound, but apparently
their sight was bewitched; as nothing whatever was visible.

"Oh, what is it?" wailed Iris, who now clung to Jenks in a state of
great apprehension.

The clucking noise came nearer, passed them within a yard, and was
already some distance away towards the reef when the sailor burst into
a hearty laugh, none the less genuine because of the relief it gave to
his bewildered senses.

Reassured, but still white with fear, Iris cried: "Do speak, please,
Mr. Jenks. What was it?"

"A beetle!" he managed to gasp.

"A beetle?"

"Yes, a small, insignificant-looking fellow, too--so small that I did
not see him until he was almost out of range. He has the loudest voice
for his size in the whole of creation. A man able to shout on the same
scale could easily make himself heard for twenty miles."

"Then I do not like such beetles; I always hated them, but this latest
variety is positively detestable. Such nasty t