“I suppose so,” answered Dick, looking about him. “Well, this place is hot enough, anyhow, whew!” and he unbuttoned the heavy fur coat which he had been glad enough to put on a short time before.
“We are probably somewhere near the Equator,” remarked the Dodo, pointing to the palms and other tropical plants to be seen on every side. “I’ve heard that this sort of thing grows there.”
“In that case we have only to find out where the sea is, and wait on the shore for a passing ship to come and take us back to England,” said Marjorie, who was as fond as her brother of reading books of adventure, and so knew exactly what to expect under the circumstances.
Fidge had divested himself of his snowshoes and heavy Arctic outfit, and was eagerly chasing some gaudy butterflies which were flitting about amongst the bright tropical flowers, and the others, feeling the heat very oppressive, were glad to follow his example, and get rid of their cumbersome clothing. Marjorie made a neat little bundle of them, and hid them behind a big stone, and then, calling Fidge to them, the party set out to explore the surrounding country.
They had not gone far before they heard a voice crying out in a peremptory way—
“Now then! move on, there!”
The Dodo was highly indignant at being addressed in this unceremonious way, particularly as he once more displayed his white kid gloves and his bright necktie, and consequently, imagined that he presented a dignified and imposing appearance.
“Who’s that?” he cried, looking about him angrily.
“Now then, move on! Do you hear?” cried the voice again.
The children stared to the right and left, in front of them, and behind them, but no one was in sight.