“Well, I don’t mind being a prisoner, uncle, if he is going to treat us like this.”
“Good, lad. I’ll take a leaf out of your book, and make the best of things. This is quite new ground for a naturalist, so let’s set aside all worry about where we are, and think only of the wonderful objects about us.”
Ned was already following out that plan, and wishing his uncle would not worry about other things, for they were riding at a pretty good rate up the clear sparkling river, and passing scene after scene of tropic loveliness that excited a constant desire in the boy to go ashore and roam amongst grand trees of the loveliest tints of green, all different from anything he had seen before.
Just then Frank came back.
“Got your shooting tackle ready?” he said.
“No, but I was thinking it was time,” replied Murray, “and that we might as well land directly we see a bird or two. I want to get all the specimens I can.”
“Land!” said Frank, with a merry laugh; “land here?”
“Yes; not to go any distance. Just for a ramble, and then return to the boat.”
“But you couldn’t, nor yet for miles farther on.”
“Why? The country on either bank looks lovely.”