"There, good-bye, Wilson. The sun will soon be overpowering, and I want
to get on."

"Well, you've got the tide to help you for the next three hours. Sorry
you're going. I'll take great care of the specimens you send down. You
can trust any of the boat-people--they know me so well. Any fellow
coming down with rice or tin will bring a box or basket. God bless you
both! Good-bye!"

There was a warm hand-shaking.

"Take care of yourself, Ned, my boy, and don't let your uncle work you
too hard.--Good-bye, my lads. Take great care of the sahibs."

The Malay boatmen seemed to have suddenly wakened up, and they sprang to
their places, responded with a grave smile to the merchant's adjuration,
pushed off the boat, and in a few minutes were rowing easily out into
the full tide, whose muddy waters flowed like so much oil up past the
little settlement, upon whose wharf the white figure of the merchant
could be seen in the brilliant sunshine waving his hand. Then, as the
occupants of the boat sat in the shade of their palm-leaf awning, they
saw a faint blue smoke arise, as he lit a cigar and stood watching the
retiring party. The house, huts, and stores about the little wharf
began to grow distant and look toy-like, the shores to display the dull,
green fringe of mangrove, with its curiously-arched roots joining
together where the stem shot up, and beneath which the muddy water
glided, whispering and lapping. And then the oars creaked faintly, as
the boat was urged more and more out into mid-stream, till the shore was
a quarter of a mile away; and at last the silence was broken by the boy,
whose face was flushed with excitement, as he stood gazing up the smooth
river, while they glided on and on through what seemed to be one
interminable winding grove of dull-green trees; for he made the calm,
grave, dark-skinned boatmen start and look round for danger, as he cried
out excitedly:

"Hurrah! Off at last!"

CHAPTER TWO.

UNCLE MURRAY'S LECTURE.

"Every man to his taste, Ned, my boy," said Johnstone Murray, gentleman,
to his nephew, who was home for a visit to his uncle--he called it home,
for he had never known any other, and visited this but rarely, his life
having been spent during the past four years at a Devon rectory, where a
well-known clergyman received four pupils.

As the above words were said about six months before the start up the
Salan River, Ned Murray's guardian raised a large magnifying-gl