“Seen or heard anything, Cross?” I said.
“Crickets, and toads, and frogs, and chuckling birds who seem to think we must be foolish to come right out here into no-man’s-land, sir. That’s about all. How have you got on?”
“Had a lovely walk,” I said, as I settled down in my place beneath the sheltering boughs. “Good-night, uncle; good-night, everybody,” and I believe that in ten minutes’ time I was sleeping as soundly as if secure and well housed in a civilised land.
Chapter Eleven.
We Lose the Axe.
“Well, you can’t help liking the place, Master Nat,” said Pete the next morning, as we prepared the breakfast, “even if you do have to sleep on the sand with a nubbly stone under your back. Look at it; makes me feel as if I should like to be a savage Indian chief, and always live here shooting and fishing.”
“It is lovely,” I said, as I gazed around at the glorious scene.
“Why, you could get more birds here than you’ll ever want. I think we ought to stay here instead of going away.”