"Nobody minds," she said, "especially about locusts being eaten—nasty things. When there is a plague of them it means ruin to father; they destroy every blade of sugar-cane."
Over the tree-tops in the valley below appeared a cloud of shimmering whiteness, moving swiftly round the base of the hill.
"What is that?" asked Miss Chase curiously.
"White cockatoos," said Nesta, with a yawn; "they're changing their feeding-ground—white cockatoos with bright yellow crests. But, I say, don't you think you had better go back to bed? You're looking awfully tired."
"Is that one for me and two for yourself?" said Miss Chase lightly. "Personally, I would rather dress and go for a walk in the wood down there."
"I don't think you had better," Nesta said, shaking her head doubtfully. "We aren't allowed to go there alone. It is awfully easy to get lost; and then there are snakes and things. You might get into a mangrove swamp too—or you might meet black-fellows."
"Well, really," laughed Miss Chase, leading the way back to bed, "you don't give a very flattering description. Why, at home I'm often up at sunrise, out all by myself in the woods. You don't even meet poachers, for they take good care not to be seen."
"I think England must be splendid," sighed Nesta.
"I wonder if you would really think so," Miss Chase responded. "Mr. Cochrane gave you a very dismal picture of it, remember."