Eustace could well appreciate the sensation after his own experiences.
Bob took a very light view of the real visit the Orbans had had from the black-fellow two nights before.
"He wouldn't have hurt any one," said the young fellow. "He was nothing but a cowardly thief, or he wouldn't have behaved in the way he did. I'm only sorry you've offered a reward for the things; it will be an incentive to other fellows to do the same. However, I dare say, with Robertson sleeping up here, no one will venture again. I shouldn't worry if I were you, Mrs. Orban."
"I will try not to," Mrs. Orban answered bravely.
They had a quiet enough night again to warrant confidence, and every one felt rested and refreshed next day.
Just after breakfast Kate appeared to tell her mistress that a Chinaman from the plantation wished to speak to her. His name was Sinkum Fung, and he was the plantation storekeeper, a man who thought a good deal of himself, but for lying and trickery, Mr. Orban declared, was no better than his neighbours the coolies who dealt at his shop.
As soon as Sinkum Fung was shown on to the veranda, he did a good deal of bowing and scraping by way of politeness, and he had so much to say on the subject of his own unimpeachable integrity that it was a long time before Mrs. Orban could bring him to an explanation of his early visit. Both she and Eustace guessed he must be wanting to sell something, and probably hoped to drive a good bargain in Mr. Orban's absence, the cunning of the average Chinese being unsurpassed.
After a considerable preamble, Sinkum began the following remarkable tale, all told in such strange Chinkee patter, and with so much self-praise interspersed, that it took the listeners' whole attention to unravel it.