They sailed the yacht successfully into the river which presently ran into the shadow of a tropical forest. Also out of a book.
'You might go on during the night,' said the parrot, 'if the dogs would steer under my directions. You could tie one end of a rope to their collars and another to the helm. It's easier than turning spits.'
'Delighted!' said Max; 'only, of course, it's understood that we sleep through the day?'
'Of course,' said everybody. So that was settled. And the children went to bed.
It was in the middle of the night that the parrot roused Philip with his usual gentle beak-touch. Then—
'Wake up,' it said; 'this is not the right river. It's not the right direction. Nothing's right. The ship's all wrong. I'm very much afraid some one has been opening a book and this river has got out.'
Philip hurried out on deck, and by the light of the lamps from the cabin, gazed out at the banks of the river. At least he looked for them. But there weren't any banks. Instead, steep and rugged cliffs rose on each side, and overhead, instead of a starry sky, was a great arched roof of a cavern glistening with moisture and dark as a raven's feathers.
'We must turn back,' said Philip. 'I don't like this at all.'
'Unfortunately,' said the parrot, 'there is no room to turn back, and the Lightning Loose is not constructed for going backwards.'
'Oh, dear,' whispered Brenda, 'I wish we hadn't come. Dear little dogs ought to be taken comfortable care of and not be sent out on nasty ships that can't turn back when it's dangerous.'