“And the brig,” cried Morny eagerly.
“Yes, my lad,” said the doctor, “and I am afraid the Count will think we have exceeded our time; but we shall be going steadily back from to-morrow morning, collecting as we go, and I am sure you will agree that we have had a grand excursion, everything having been most successful.”
The following morning broke as gloriously fine as ever. The fire was crackling, and Joe Cross announced that it was not fish that morning, but fried bacon, and soon after the pleasant aromatic scent of the coffee was rising in the morning air as they took their seats in the shade of a great fig-like tree whose boughs seemed to be full of twittering and whistling love-birds gathered in a huge flock to feed upon the saccharine embedded seeds of the little fruit.
“Hullo!” said the doctor suddenly, turning to Rodd. “Where’s the Don?”
“Having another cigarette somewhere, I suppose, uncle,” said Rodd, laughing. “I thought he was along with you.”
“No, my boy,” replied Uncle Paul. “I thought he went with you this morning when you made the men row a little farther along the stream.”
“That was only to take a last look upward and see what it was like farther on before we turned back; and it is so beautiful up there—better than anything we have seen. I say, uncle, let’s have another day.”
“No, no, Rodd,” cried Morny, catching him by the arm. “I couldn’t bear it. We must go back now.”
“Quite right, Morny, my boy,” said the doctor quietly. “Yes, we have come to the end of our tether. Let’s get back to the Count and Captain Chubb.”
“Well, all right,” said Rodd. “Never mind what I said, Morny, old chap. I always was a pig when I was getting anything I liked. Let’s have breakfast, and then—