“Excuse me a moment,” said Murray, addressing the Malay chief.—“Ladies, I’ll say good-bye once more, and thank you heartily for your kindness to us.”
“You can do that later on,” said the doctor, quietly. “If you do go to-day, of course we shall come and see you off.”
“To be sure. Thank you,” said Murray smiling.—“Now, gentlemen, I am at your service. I see that you speak English.”
“Understand? yes,” said the chief officer; “speak? no.”
By this time they were in the garden, the group of swarthy spearmen standing back in line with military precision, and holding their weapons at the salute as the party passed them, and then falling in behind to march after them in a way which showed that they had been carefully drilled.
“Come, Ned,” said Murray, as they passed out of the gate, “don’t look so serious, lad; they are not leading us out to execution.”
“Did I look serious, uncle?” said the boy merrily. “I was not thinking that, but of our clothes.”
“Eh, what about them, lad?”
“That they look very rough and shabby beside these grand dresses. We hardly seem lit to go to court.”
“Not our fault, boy. It is a special invitation,” replied Murray merrily.—“We must study up the Malay language so as to be independent, Mr Braine.”