The driver, who wore a mushroom-shaped bamboo hat, pulled the water buffalo to a stop. All, except Filippa and Favra, got off at the mouth of a cave.
“I won’t go in or near it,” exclaimed Filippa.
“Girls are afraid of real things, of imaginary noises, and even of unreal shadows,” jeered Fil.
“No wonder, if you refer to this damp cave,” remarked Fil’s mother.
Creeping up quietly to the entrance, Fil and Moro threw stones and oranges and mangoes up to the echoing roof.
“Lie down quick,” shouted Fil’s father.
We had need to stoop, for there was a whirring in the roof of the cave and over its mouth, like the sound of birds or aeroplanes.
“What are they, owls or eagles?” I exclaimed.
“Furry fruit-bats, as large as flying cats,” laughed Fil, who was proud of his secret cave and of his discovery.
“You don’t really mean to say that those large flying things have fur, and eat fruit?” I asked.