"Well, you won't see it if it isn't there," said Dick, grimly. "That earthquake may have changed the whole face of that portion of the isle."
The trail appeared to make a wide sweep to the westward, and led them over ground that was unusually rough. The trailing vines were everywhere and they had to brush away innumerable spider webs as they progressed. Once Songbird came upon some spiders larger than any he had yet seen and two crawled on his shoulder, causing him to yell in fright.
"What's the matter?" asked Dick.
"Spiders! Two were just going to bite me, but I got rid of 'em!"
"Don't be afraid, Songbird," came from Tom. "Why don't you study them and write a poem about them?"
"A poem about spiders! Ugh!" And Songbird's face showed his disgust.
"Der spider vos a pusy little animal," observed Hans. "He sphins his veb und attends strictly to business. I dink I make up some boetry apout him," and the German boy began:
"Der vos von lettle sphider
Vot lifed owid in der voot,
He made himself a leetle veb
Und said dot it vos goot."
"Hurrah, for Hans!" cried Tom. "He's the true poet of spiderdom!" and then he added: "Hans, we'll crown you poet laureate if you say so."
"I ton't von no crown," answered Hans, complacently. "I chust so vell vear mine cap alretty."