Charlie was not on the hill, or, if so, he was behind a sycamore and out of sight; but they knew he had not yet made the signal, because the herd of cows was down by the hollow oak, some standing in the water. They had not yet been called by the milkers. Sweeping the shore of Fir-Tree Gulf, and down the Mozambique to the projecting bluff which prevented farther view, he saw a crow on the sand, and another perched on a rail; another sign that there was no one about.
“Any savages?” said Mark.
“Not one.”
“Proas hauled up somewhere out of sight.”
Mark carefully felt his way to the very verge, and there sat with his legs dangling over. He said the cliff was quite safe; and Bevis joined him. Underneath they could see deep into the water; but though so still, they could not distinguish the bottom. Clear at the surface, the water seemed to thicken to a dense shadow, which could not be seen through. It was deep there; they thought they should like a dive, only it was too far for them to plunge. There was a ball of thistledown on the surface, floating on the tips of its delicate threads; the spokes with which it flies as a wheel rolls.
“How did the rabbits—I mean the kangaroos—get here?” said Bevis presently. “I don’t think they could swim so far.”
“Savages might bring them,” said Mark. “But they don’t very often carry pets with them: they eat everything so.”
“Nibbling men like goats nibbling hedges,” said Bevis. “We must take care: but how did the kangaroos get on the island?”
“It is curious,” said Mark. “Perhaps it wasn’t always an island—joined to the mainland and the river cut a way through the isthmus.”
“Or a volcano blew it up,” said Bevis. “We will see if we can find the volcano.”