Onward again. Here a little village of mud-huts, with its clump of "feather-dusters," as Bob persisted in calling the palms; there a caravan plodding along the marshes against the sky-line. Flocks of water-fowl faring gracefully over the broad pools gave place to yellow sands, and the sands again to clear green water and sighing reeds.
At last the good ship Osprey emerged from the narrow, lonely, sluggish stream into the sparkling waters of the Indian Ocean.
CHAPTER VII. O-HANA-SAN'S PARTY.
O-Hana-San was to give a party. She announced the fact with pride to her schoolmates, who, with the frankness peculiar to childhood, eagerly demanded invitations. Had they been older, they would have called on the lady who was to entertain, and, after flattering her and making their personal regard for her as prominent as possible, would have brought the conversation round to the party, in order to show that they knew all about it and of course should expect an invitation. Being little girls, they just said, one and all, "Oh, do ask me to come, Hana!"
Miss Blossom (for that is the English equivalent for her name) considered.
"I can only invite twelve," she finally announced. "Twelve girls," she concluded, with a sigh; "no boys."
"Why not?" demanded one of the larger boys, pushing forward. "You must ask me, anyway, Hana!"