"No, sir; but I've got it, and I can feel my face all covered with spots."
"It's the mosquitoes," cried Phra, sitting up suddenly.
"Hullo! You awake?—That's it, Mikey."
"Oh no, sir," groaned the man; "it's worse than that."
"'Tisn't. His Royal Highness Prince Phra Mala Krom Praya says it's mosquitoes, and he's right. How many spots have you got on your face? A million?"
"Well, no, sir, I don't think there's as many as that; but my face is full, and they itch and sting horrid, and my eyes are swelled up and stiff. Just you feel."
"No, thankye, Mike; but I'll have a look as soon as it is light. I say, though, I wonder you haven't got a million bites.—There, don't be such a baby. Go and get the breakfast ready. I'll wake the others."
"He ain't a bit o' feeling in him," sighed Mike to himself; and he went out of the cabin.
"What does it look like, Phra?" said Harry, for his companion had passed his head out beside the matting.
"Come and see; it's lovely."