Harry had little difficulty in getting to the boundary of his father's grounds, keeping well under cover, though it was hot work hurrying along in a stooping position. But when he raised his head cautiously and peered over the river, the result was disappointing.
There was the boat certainly, going on against tide, propelled by a couple of stout rowers; and it was evidently the boat of some one well to do, for the rowers were dressed alike. As to the occupants of the central part beneath the awning, they were partly hidden by the uprights which supported the light roof shelter, and their backs were towards him. They were richly dressed, but though the boy watched till the boat passed out of sight beyond a curve they did not turn their heads once.
Harry returned to the landing-stage, feeling troubled and thoughtful. He was asking himself whether he should tell Phra what he had heard, and a feeling of shrinking from making his companion uncomfortable had almost fixed him in his determination to say nothing until he had told his father.
But Phra's action altered all this.
For just as he was about to set foot upon the stage, Phra leaped up and began to rub his ear frantically.
"What did you do that for?" he cried fiercely.
"Do what?" said Harry, laughing at the boy's antics.
"You put that nasty little beetle in my ear."
"I didn't," cried Harry, bursting into a roar of laughter.
"Yes, you did. There it is," cried Phra angrily, as he stamped upon and crushed a little round insect about the size of the smaller lady-bird. "Tickle, tickle, tickle! Why, if I hadn't woke up, the horrible little creature might have eaten its way into my brains, and killed me."