The stowaway uttered a few words hoarsely, but nothing was comprehensible but “quick!” and “run.” He pointed seaward, though in the direction opposite to that which the party had taken that morning on their way round to Crater Bay, a journey which familiarity had made appear now comparatively short.
Mark looked in the direction in which he pointed, and could see the blue water of the lagoon, with to his left the long line of creamy surf and to his right the fringe of cocoa-nut trees just beyond the sand.
Jimpny pointed again, and on once more looking searchingly Mark made out a flock of the beautiful long-tailed parroquets which haunted the island groves, but nothing more.
“Have you seen anything—has anyone touched you? Oh, I say, David, do speak! What is the matter?”
The stowaway made signs again and pointed, striving once more to rise, but sinking back from utter exhaustion.
“Point, then, if you can’t speak,” cried Mark. “If the ladies see you like this they will be frightened to death.”
The man pointed again toward where a long low point ran out into the lagoon, fringed with luxuriant growth, but nothing more was visible.
“There, I thought as much!” cried Mark as he saw his mother coming up, followed by Mrs O’Halloran, and Mary with them, the latter running on in advance.
“What’s the matter, Mark?” she cried as she came up—and then, “Oh, Mr Jimpny, how you have got scratched!”
“There’s nothing the matter, I think,” said Mark laughing, for the stowaway’s face was comical with terror. “I think David has seen another noise, or found a steam snake, like I did.”