CHAPTER XXVIII
A BULB FROM THE GREAT WHITE WAY
When she found Ben, who was frantically hallooing through the woods, the sun had passed the zenith too far to allow further investigation of the strange house, so they made their way over the mountain, down the terraces to the hut.
"It's funny that I never discovered the place before," said Ben. "I've tramped every acre of the island north of the gorge, though, come to think of it, I've not covered the part south so well. I've stuck to the coast pretty much there. But I should have seen the house from the shore."
"I think the trees and vines hide it from anyone at a distance, Ben. I wonder who they are. Is it possible that they own the island?"
"No, they must have just come. If they had been here long I would have run across them before, or have seen the smoke of their fires at least."
As they reached the hut, they heard the sound of the North Star's bells—struck twice. It was five o'clock. After Ben had departed on some errand, Sally sat cross-legged, watching Spanish Dick as he moved about, preparing supper, his bare legs, tatooed arms, and chest, coppery-swart in the levelling sun-rays, his melting brown eyes full of dreams and fancies as usual.
