"These'll be better than water to drink," said Harry, rolling four across the table to his companion, and pocketing as many for his own use.
"But we can't stop here," said Phra; "it's too hot to breathe."
"I know; let's go and lie down on the floor at the landing-place."
"Yes, that will do," replied Phra, and a few minutes later the boys were extended upon their backs upon the bamboos, shaded by the palm-leaf roofing, and feeling a faint breath of warm air come up from the surface of the river, just as if it had floated up from the sea.
Here, as they lay, the boys peeled their oranges and threw the yellow rind into the river, where, whenever the white side fell downward, there was a loud splash made by a fish, which dashed at it and left it again as not good enough for food.
The oranges were not good—they were small and pithy, as if the sun had dried all the juice out of them; but they were the best the boys could obtain, and they were eaten in silence, neither feeling disposed to talk; and then the natural thing occurred to two boys hot and tired upon a torrid day when there was a sleepy hum in the air in and out beneath the shade in which they lay.
Five minutes after the last orange was eaten, a heavy breathing could be heard.
"Asleep, Phra?" said Harry softly.
A repetition of the breathing was the reply, and Harry lay with his hands clasped under the back of his head, gazing up at the palm thatch, where all looked softly light, though it was in the shade, the reason being that the sunshine was reflected from the surface of the water and played in a peculiar, mazy way upon the inner part of the roof, as if a golden net were covering the palm leaves and being kept in continuous motion.
There was a good deal to be seen up there: flies were darting about, and often faring badly, for every now and then a lizard ran along, looking like a miniature crocodile, the sunny reflections in full motion resembling the water.