“Well, it could not be much more wild,” said the girl, smiling. “Directly you get past our house the dense jungle begins. We are completely shut in by it, except in the front here by the river. Wild? You will hear the tigers as soon as it is dark.”
“But I shall not be here,” said Ned, laughing.
“I think you will,” said the girl, looking at him curiously.
“Oh no; my uncle has quite made up his mind about what he intends to do, and nothing can change him.”
“Indeed! We shall see. Here we are.”
They had been passing through the place with its houses dotted about in the most irregular fashion, just as the builders had felt disposed to plant them, and now came upon an attractive-looking bungalow similar in character to the others, and like them raised on bamboo piles seven or eight feet from the ground, but with numberless little additions such as would be made by an Englishman. Notably a high rustic fence enclosing a large garden planted liberally with tropic shrubs and flowers, and a broad flight of steps leading up to a great open verandah which ran nearly along the whole of the front, and over which the attap roof was brought to rest on clusters of bamboo formed into pillars, up which ran and twined in profuse growth passion-flowers and other creepers.
“What a delightful place!” cried Ned. “Why, it’s quite a treat to see a good garden. Look at the fruit!”
“Mamma is very proud of the garden, and—”
“Come along, squire,” said the doctor, from the head of the steps. “Welcome to the Fernery.”
Murray was already seated at a well-spread table, upon which a couple of Malayan women, in neat cotton sarongs woven into an attractive plaid, were placing plates and dishes, and they greeted the newcomers with a look of surprise and a smile.