He glanced at the basket again, and then at the old hunter and his men, all three squatting down on their heels, chewing away at their betel-nut, and evidently in calm, restful enjoyment of the habit.
"Just like three cows chewing their cud," said Harry to himself, and then feeling that it was the best way to avoid the temptation to look into the basket, he went along the verandah to the corner of the house, just as his father reached the next corner, coming to join them.
"Well, has Phra come?" he cried.
"No, father, not yet."
"Found out what's in the basket?" said Mr. Kenyon, smiling.
"No; haven't looked."
"Well done, Hal; I didn't give you credit for so much self-denial. But there, I think we have waited long enough. Let's go and see now what we've got."
"No, no, don't do that," said Harry excitedly. "Phra would be so disappointed if we began before he had time to get here."
"Ah well, he will not be disappointed," said Mr. Kenyon, "for here he is."
As he spoke a boat came in sight, gliding along the river at the bottom of the garden—a handsomely made boat, propelled by a couple of rowers standing one in the bow, the other astern, facing the way they were going, and propelling the vessel after the fashion of Venetian gondoliers, their oars being secured to a stout peg in the side by a loop of hemp.