The boat was stopped again, and the monkeys followed suit, the same curious old face peering cautiously out and watching.
The boat went on, so did the monkeys; and this was repeated over and over again, stopping and going on, the wave in the trees seeming to be so exactly influenced by the rowers' agitation of the water that it was as if one touch moved both water and leaf.
"Well, they are comical little beggars," cried Harry, who was once more in the highest of spirits. "I say, old man, just take your friends away; we're going shooting. Do you hear?"
The little head popped in out of sight, but as the boat did not move it popped out again, as if to find the reason why.
"We shan't get a bird, for they'll keep on like that for miles."
"It's tiresome," said Harry. "Here, I say, if you don't toddle I'll give you pepper."
The gun was raised threateningly as the boy spoke, and the head disappeared.
"He knows English," cried Harry, "and he's an uncommonly sensible old gentleman. Father told me that the country folks at home say rooks can smell powder. So can monkeys, seemingly."
"Country folks at home? What country folks?"
"Not yours; ours, in the old home, England. There, let's get on and begin shooting, or we shall get nothing."