A Surprise.
“Ahoy! Don’t shoot,” came from out of the dense jungle up the stream.
“Why, uncle,” I cried, “that doesn’t sound like a savage.”
“It’s worse, Nat,” said my uncle. “There’s a terribly English sound about it.”
“Ahoy, I say!” came again. “Don’t shoot!”
“Ahoy! who are you?” shouted my uncle.
“Don’t shoot, and we’ll come out,” came in tones half smothered by the thick growth.
“We’re not going to fire. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
There was a sharp brushing sound of leafage being forced aside, the splashing of feet in water, and the soft rattle of pebbles being moved in the stream bed by feet, and the next minute two figures came from under the pendent bough, which nearly touched the water and stood in the bright glow of the rising sun, while astonishment brought the words to our lips:
“The carpenter!” cried my uncle. And I burst out laughing as I said: