“Not when you plunged into the river?”
Ned gave him a sharp look.
“I don’t remember anything about that,” he replied; “but I say, uncle, you might let me have a shot at one of the crocs now.”
Murray laughed, but made no reply, and they sat in silence watching the wonderful sunset, as the men, well refreshed, sent the boat along at a pretty good rate, the tide soon afterwards lending its help. This was kept on till long after dark, and the crew did not cease rowing till they came abreast of another tiny village. Here they fastened the boat to a post in company with a couple more, after exchanging a few words with some dusky-looking figures on the strip of shore, beyond which a group of huts could be just made out, backed by trees, which looked of an intense black, while above them was the purple sky spangled with stars which seemed double the size of those at home.
This time Ned was quite ready for his share of the evening meal, which was eaten in silence as the travellers sat watching a patch of bushes which grew where the mangroves ceased.
“Why, it’s just like a little display of fireworks,” Ned whispered. “As if the people there were letting them off because we had come.”
“Yes; it is very beautiful. Look! they seem to flash out like the sparks in a wood fire, when the wind suddenly blows over it, and then go out again.”
“Yes,” said Ned thoughtfully; “our glow-worms that we used to find and bring back to put in the garden were nothing to them. Look at that!”
He pointed to where a bright streak of light glided through the darkness for a few yards, and then stopped suddenly, when all around it there was a fresh flashing out of the lights.
“Why, uncle!” cried Ned, “if we caught a lot of those and hung them up in a glass globe, we shouldn’t want this lamp.”