The next morning found us quietly settled in our new location. My father and mother did their best to comfort Senhor Pimento and his family for the loss of their property.
“Think how much worse it would have been,” said my father, “had you, and your wife, and daughters, and son been deprived of your lives! We should be thankful for the blessings we receive.”
“See, it is true—it is true,” answered our Portuguese friend. “But—”
“Oh, utter not any ‘buts,’” observed my father. “‘But’ is an ungrateful word. It should be discharged from human language.”
Ellen had saved all her pets, even her humming-bird; and she and Fanny, with the assistance of their Brazilian friends, had plenty of occupation in arranging accommodation for them.
My father was anxious to have a larger vessel built, fit to navigate the lower part of the river, over whose sea-like expanse strong winds occasionally blow, which our smaller canoes were but ill-calculated to encounter. The first thing, however, to be done, was to erect huts, in which the party might live till the vessel could be got ready, or till they received information that the voyage could be accomplished without risk of being attacked by the rebels.
“I have been thinking, Harry,” said Arthur, “that if Houlston and Nyass should come down, and make for Senhor Pimento’s farm, would there not be a great risk of their falling into the hands of the rebels, and being killed?”
“Indeed there would,” I answered. “I did not think of that. I wish we could send and stop them.”
“Would it not be better to go ourselves?” asked Arthur.
“Indeed it would,” I exclaimed. “We will see what my father says to it.”