asked Moses, turning his huge eyes on
his master.

"There--under the bush, beside Nigel."

"An' where would _you_ like to sleep, Massa Spinkie?" added the negro,
with a low obeisance to the monkey, which sat on the top of what seemed
to be its favourite seat--a water-cask.

Spinkie treated the question with calm contempt, turned his head
languidly to one side, and scratched himself.

"Unpurliteness is your k'racter from skin to marrow, you son of a
insolent mother!" said Moses, shaking his fist, whereat Spinkie,
promptly making an O of his mouth, looked fierce.

The sagacious creature remained where he was till after supper, which
consisted of another roast fowl--hot this time--and ship's-biscuit
washed down with coffee. Of course Spinkie's portion consisted only of
the biscuit with a few scraps of cocoa-nut. Having received it he
quietly retired to his native wilds, with the intention of sleeping
there, according to custom, till morning; but his repose was destined to
be broken, as we shall see.

After supper, the hermit, stretching himself on his blanket, filled an
enormous meerschaum, and began to smoke. The negro, rolling up a little
tobacco in tissue paper, sat down, tailor-wise, and followed his
master's example, while our hero--who did not smoke--lay between them,
and gazed contemplatively over the fire at the calm dark sea beyond,
enjoying the aroma of his coffee.

"From what you have told me of your former trading expeditions," said
Nigel, looking at his friend, "you must have seen a good deal of this
archipelago before you took--excuse me--to the hermit life."

"Ay--a good deal."

"Have you ever travelled in the interior of the larger islands?" asked
Nigel, in the hope of drawing from him some account of his experiences
with wild beasts or wild men--he did not care which, so long as they
were wild!

"Yes, in all of them," returned the hermit, curtly, for he was not fond
of talking about himself.

"I suppose the larger islands are densely wooded?" continued Nigel
interrogatively.

"They are, very."

"But the wood is not of much value, I fancy, in the way of trade,"
pursued our hero, adopting another line of attack which proved
successful, for Van der Kemp turned his eyes on him with a look of
surprise that almost forced him to laugh.

"Not of much value in the way of trade!" he repeated--"forgive me, if I
express surprise that you seem to know so little about us--but, after
all, the world