the small cabins Ali had arranged the much-discussed company
accounts ready for his lord's attention, and there was every promise of
a happy and a profitable day when Yoka rang the engines "ahead," and the
_Wiggle_ jerked her way to midstream.

The east had grown pale, there was a murmur from the dark forests on
either bank, the timorous chirping or bad-tempered squawk of a bird, a
faint fragrance of burning gumwood from the fishing villages
established on the river bank, where, in dancing spots of light, the
women were tending their fires.

There is no intermediate stage on the big river between darkness and
broad daylight. The stars go out all at once, and the inky sky which
serves then becomes a delicate blue. The shadows melt deeper and deeper
into the forest, clearly revealing the outlines of the straight-stemmed
trees. There is just this interregnum of pearl greyness, a sort of
hush-light, which lasts whilst a man counts twenty, before the silver
lances of the sun are flashing through the leaves, and the grey veil
which blurs the islands to shapeless blotches in a river of dull silver
is burnt to nothingness, and the islands are living things of vivid
green set in waters of gold.

"The sunrise!" said Bones, and waved his hand to the east with the air
of one who was responsible for the miracle.

The girl sat in a deep wicker chair and breathed in the glory and the
freshness of the scene. Across the broad river, right ahead of the boat,
a flock of parroquets was flying, screeching their raucous chorus. The
sun caught their brilliant plumage, and she saw, as it seemed, a rainbow
in flight.

"Isn't that wonderful?" she whispered.

Bones peered up at the birds, shading his eyes.

"Just like a jolly old patchwork quilt," he said. "What a pity they
can't talk till you teach 'em! They're awful bad eatin', too, though
some fellers say they make a good curry----"

"Oh, look, look!"

The _Wiggle_ was swerving to the southern bank of the river, and two
majestic flamingos standing at the water's edge had arrested the girl's
attention.

"_They're_ bad eatin', too," said the informative Bones. "The flesh is
fishy an' too fat; heron are just the same."

"Haven't you a soul, Bones?" she asked severely.

"A soul, dear ma'am?" Bones asked, in astonishment. "Why, that's my
specialty!"

It was a delightful morning for the girl, for Bones had retired to his
cabin at her earnest request, and was struggling with the com