“Hot? Why, those vegetables and things you ate were cooked in one of the boiling springs.”
“Phew!” whistled Jem.
They sat talking in the moonlight afterwards, listening to the tattooed Englishman, who spoke about what he had heard from the ship’s crew. Among other things the news that they might sail at any time.
Don started, and the tattooed Englishman noticed it.
“Yes,” he said; “that means going away and leaving you two behind. You don’t seemed pleased.”
Don looked up at him earnestly.
“No,” he said; “I didn’t at first. Don’t think me ungrateful after what you’ve done.”
“I don’t, my lad,” said the man, kindly; “I know what you feel. It’s like being shut away from every one you know; and you feel as if you were going to be a savage, and never see England again. I felt something like that once; but I didn’t come out like you did. Ah, well, that’s neither here nor there. You’re only a boy yet, with plenty o’ time before you. Make yourself as happy as you can; these chaps are not so very bad when they don’t want to get fighting, and I daresay you and me will be good enough friends. Eh? Hullo! What’s the matter?”
He leaped to his feet, and Don, Jem, and the New Zealand savages about them did the same, for half-a-dozen of Ngati’s followers came running up with news, which they communicated with plenty of gesticulations.
“What are they a-saying on, Mas’ Don? I wish I could speak New Zealandee.”