It was about three months later, and after the departure of the man-of-war, that Harry and Phra were going round the English quarter, where the rebuilding was well in progress, Mr. Kenyon's bungalow most forward of all.
"They have worked, Phra," cried Harry triumphantly. "Why, in another fortnight we shall be able to begin housekeeping again. Mike has bought boat-loads of things ready to come in as soon as the place is dry."
"Yes," said Phra; "they are getting on fast. These light bamboo-built places are soon raised; but I don't see why you should be in such a hurry. Aren't you comfortable up at the palace?"
"Comfortable?" cried Harry. "It would be a shame if we weren't. No one could be nicer than the King."
"To his friends," said Phra gravely. "His enemies think differently."
"He has no enemies now," said Harry.
"No, not now, for the last of those who headed the rising have left the country."
"All those who could," said Harry, with a meaning look.
"Don't talk about it," said Phra, with a spasm of pain in his face. "We were talking about you coming back here to live. Aren't you afraid of another volcanic eruption?"
"N—no," said Harry. "We should be more on our guard if one were threatening."