Then I saw my uncle shut up his little tin case and replace it in the chest, put out the wax taper, and lie down upon his couch of dry grass, yawning slightly, and then lying gazing out of the open door, for I could see his eyes shine.
But by degrees the faintly lit-up hut, with its bamboos and roof, its chests, guns, and Ebo’s spear, all seemed to grow indistinct, and then all was restful peace.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
A strange Cry in the Woods.
When I opened my eyes again the sea was dancing and sparkling, and the leaves waving gently in the soft warm breeze. I could see from where I lay that the water was rippling gently upon the sand, and not far from the hut door my uncle was busy skinning some bright-plumaged bird, while Ebo was cooking a couple of pigeons, and watching a little kettle stuck amongst the glowing ashes.
I was very comfortable, and did not feel disposed to move, for all seemed so calm and pleasant; and when I thought a little about my previous night’s fancies I was ready to smile at them as being perfectly absurd.
I did not speak, but lay quite still, gazing at the lovely picture framed by the open door, and thinking how beautiful it all was, and how foolish I had been to go on fancying such dangers as I had in the night.
Then it was very pleasant, too, to watch Uncle Dick, and how very much quicker and cleverer he was at making a skin than I was. Still, I hoped by practice to get to be as quick.