“All right, we’ll start. There is no fear of anyone breaking into the house while we’re away, so you needn’t lock the door, Brandy.”
It was a delightful day, with a strong breeze chafing the sea and roaring through the stunted shrubs and thorny cacti. The sky too was overcast with clouds; and it being the end of October some showers had fallen, so that the air was wondrously cool considering that they were right under the equator.
Tom felt as easy-minded and happy to-day as ever he did in his life.
There was something in the very air of this semi-enchanted isle of the ocean, that seemed to engender happiness, and hope as well. Tom had not begun to think yet if there was any chance of his ever getting away from the island.
“One of these days,” he said to Brandy, “you and I will sit down and do a jolly big think. But there is no occasion to hurry. Is there, Brandy?”
“O, I’se in no ’ticular hurry, sah! Not in de slightest. I lub dis little island. ’Spose we lib heah always, I not care.”
For miles and miles they scrambled onwards and upwards, wondering, like the little girl in the fairy tale, where they would come to at last. They took a straight course through the thorny jungle; but afterwards found that though this was the nearest route, it certainly was not the quickest. Poor Brandy’s feet were cut with cinders and rocks, and both had their faces and clothes torn with the cruel briers, that were as sharp and long as penknives.
They found themselves on a hilltop at last, and looking down, to their great astonishment, into a perfect paradise.
What was it like? It is not easy to describe. Imagine if you can a vast green and flowery valley, surrounded on all sides by romantic hills covered half-way to the top with waving woods, their summits round, fantastic, coned, or serrated; the valley itself containing every description of beautiful scenery that can be conceived. Yonder are green parks or fields, with cattle and donkeys quietly browsing in them, and shrubby knolls and patches of trees in their midst; yonder a beautiful lake or pond, with cattle wading therein or standing drowsily in its shallows; yonder a racing streamlet, like a thread of silver, winding through the plain till lost among the woods.
Down towards this paradise the Crusoes now hurry, new wonders greeting their sight at every turn. The forest itself is garlanded and festooned with flowers, trailing, climbing, and hanging, and shedding beauty everywhere. And when they leave the woods at last and come into the open, there are more marvels yet in store for them. A herd of wild pigs start squeaking and grunting away from a thicket of bananas, where they have been feeding on the fruit. There are groves of oranges, of citrons, and limes, and further on patches of wild potatoes, yams, and vegetables innumerable.