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well,” said the colonel, and Perry left the room.

      Chapter Three

      Preparing to Start

      “Well, did you ask him?” cried Cyril eagerly, as Perry went out into the parched garden, the boy pouncing out upon him from behind a patch of dry-looking shrubs.

      “Yes, I asked him, and then your father came in.”

      “Yes,” said Cyril eagerly, “I saw him, and kept in hiding, because I thought it best to leave it for you to do. Well, what did your father say?”

      “He as good as said no.”

      “Yes, at first,” cried Cyril. “I knew he would. But he came round.”

      “And then your father came in.”

      “Yes?”

      “And my father made me ask him what he had to say about it.”

      “Yes? Do go on, old chap. You are so slow.”

      “The captain was quite angry, and wouldn’t listen to the idea for a moment.”

      “That was because he had made his plans for you to stay with me. But he came round, didn’t he?”

      “No,” said Perry sadly. “He was firm as a rock, and they are both dead against it. I should have liked for you to come, Cil.”

      There was a dead silence; and as Perry looked at his companion, he saw that his brow was full of deep lines, and that the boy’s face looked hard and set, the eyes fixed, and the lips tightened together into quite a hard crease.

      Perry looked at him for a few moments, feeling pained to see the way in which the lad took his disappointment.

      “I’m so sorry, Cil,” he said at last.

      Cyril did not seem to have heard him, and after a pause Perry spoke again.

      “Perhaps your father will give way before we go.”

      “What?”

      Perry started, the word sounded so sharp and harsh.

      “I say perhaps he’ll give way before we go.”

      “No, he won’t. He never does. Father says a thing, and means it.”

      “It’s very disappointing,” said Perry, “but it’s of no use to fret.”

      Cyril laughed bitterly.

      “You’re going,” he said sharply. “It can’t disappoint you.”

      “Yes, it can. I am disappointed. I don’t care about going so much now without you.”

      “Then stop here with me,” cried Cyril sharply.

      “I can’t,” was the reply. “You wouldn’t give up going if you were me. Don’t let’s think any more about it now, but go and do something.”

      Cyril made no reply, but walked straight away out of the garden and then down towards the harbour, while Perry watched him for a few minutes sadly, and then followed slowly, missed sight of him, and after quite a long search found him sitting on the edge of his wharf, where the sun beat down most fiercely, and staring straight out to sea. “Cil!” said Perry, after going close up, but without exciting the slightest notice of his presence.

      There was no reply.

      “Cil – don’t be sulky with me.”

      “Not sulky,” came with quite a snap.

      “Well, angry then. It isn’t my fault. I wish you could come.”

      “Didn’t say it was your fault.”

      “Then why do you take it like that?”

      Cyril turned upon him quite fiercely.

      “What’s the good of talking?” he cried. “You can’t understand. You go sailing about with your father and seeing things everywhere. I never go even into the forest. It’s horrible always shut up here with book-keeping and classics. I wish sometimes I was only one of the Indians, like that one yonder.”

      Perry felt disposed to say, which one? for there was a second Indian close by; but wishing to brighten his companion, and turn the current of his thoughts, he merely said:

      “Well, I shouldn’t wish to be a she Indian.”

      “Those are not shes – they’re both men,” said Cyril sharply.

      Perry looked at the pair incredulously, for they certainly had a most feminine aspect, being broad of figure and face, plump-cheeked, and with thick long hair cut square across the forehead and allowed to hang down behind. Their eyes were dreamy-looking and oblique, their faces perfectly devoid of hair, and to add to their womanish look, they wore a loose kind of cotton garment, which hung down from their shoulders nearly to their ankles.

      “I say, what are they doing?” said Perry, as he stared at the pair.

      “Taking snuff. That’s their way. They carry some in a little bag, and when they want to take any, they put the powder in that little siphon-like pipe, and hold it to their nose, and another one blows it up. That one sitting down’s the guide father is getting for you. – Here, hi!”

      The Indians looked round, nodded, finished the snuff-taking business, and then came deliberately toward the boys.

      “They’re Antis,” said Cyril, as Perry watched the two sleepy-looking Indians curiously, and noted that they were both about his own height.

      The men came close up, and stood there smiling, waiting to be spoken to; and as Perry had hoped, their presence took Cyril out of himself for the time.

      “Been to see my father?” said Cyril in a mongrel kind of Spanish.

      One of the Indians nodded.

      “And his father too?”

      The man replied that he was going now. So Cyril interpreted the few words.

      “That’s the worst of them; and it’s so hard to make them understand exactly what you mean. He didn’t know what I meant, and had not been – What say?” For the Indian had muttered something which he repeated.

      “Wants to know if I’m going too,” said Cyril bitterly; and he shook his head at the Indian, when both smiled and looked pleased.

      Cyril gave his teeth a grind. “You beggars,” he cried in English, “looking glad because I’m disappointed. – And I’ve given that first chap many a good tuck out, and lots of tobacco dust for snuff, and paid him no end of times for birds he has shot with his blowpipe, besides buying butterflies and eggs he has brought down out of the mountains. All right, though; I’ll serve them out. – I say,” cried the boy, and a complete change came over him, “can you speak Spanish?”

      “I? No, not a word.”

      “That’s a pity. You’ll have to learn a few words, so as to be able to talk to these chaps. But you’ll soon pick them up – some Indian, some Spanish, and some half-and-half. Wait a moment; I want to talk to this chap about – about your going.”

      He began to speak to the man in a low voice, and then grew more and more eager, while the Indian began by smiling and looking amused, but, directly after, shook his head, and seemed to be refusing something which Cyril was asking. Then Perry saw the lad put his hand in his pocket and give the Indian a good two-bladed pocket-knife, whose keenness he demonstrated to the great interest of the Indian, who tried it on one of the heavy posts by the wharf, and then transferred it to his pocket with a smile of satisfaction, nodding his head now to everything Cyril said.

      Their conversation lasted for some time, and Perry began to grow impatient after he had satisfied his scrutiny of the two Indians’ appearance, and wondered why they should disfigure themselves by painting horizontal lines from their noses across their cheeks.

      “There,” cried Cyril, speaking rather excitedly, “it’s all right now. He says he’ll take great care of you, and wait upon you as if you were his father,

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