Tom Pagdin admitted afterwards that when he looked through the lantana on the island, he wished he had borne with paternal corrections, and never gone pirating.

Dave, who was in front, actuated by kindred sentiments, tried to push past Tom; but the latter was ahead of him, and broke for the boat first.

They raced through the lantana, scratching their hands and faces and tearing their clothes as they went.

Their craft was aground in the black mud among the mangroves, and when they tried to shove her off they found the task beyond their strength.

Tom hurriedly led the way into a thick patch of jungle, and they crawled under a low clump of young stinging trees, where it would be almost impossible for a full-grown man to reach them, and held a whispered consultation.

“It’s him,” said Dave.

“Yes,” agreed Tom, “there ain’t no doubt of it.”

[129]

“Do you think he seen us?” asked the second pirate.

“No;” replied Tom, “I don’t think so; he had his ugly mouth open like he waz asleep.”

“What’s to do?” asked Dave.

“Dunno, ’less we leave everything an’ swim ashore. Then we might get ketched with sharks, and if we wasn’t ketched with sharks, we’d most likely be ketched be the traps.”

“I wouldn’t sleep ’ere a night,” cried Dave, “with that cove on the island, not for anything.”

“I’d rather sleep on a jumper ant’s nest,” agreed Tom. “The only thing we got to do is keep quiet, an’ wait till the tide rises. Then we’ll shove the boat off quietly and go further down the river.”

Having decided on this plan, they felt more comfortable. After a while Tom even got courage enough to sneak back to where he had dropped his swag.

He returned to report that the black-bearded man was still sleeping. Tom said he looked more awful and wicked than ever.

They munched some food quietly, and feeling almost secure in the heart of the thicket wherein they had crawled, Nature asserted herself, and they both fell asleep.

It was past noon when Tom started up and woke his mate.

“The tide’s up,” he whispered. “We better run the risk of bein’ seen from the shore in the boat than stay ’ere and be killed by a cold-blooded murderer like that.”

[130]

They crept through the scrub and lantana as quietly as they could.

Tom took a good look round, and announced that the coast was clear. The water was well up astern, and they began to push at the bow of the boat to launch her.

“Give ’er one more shove!” cried Tom, in a glad voice, “an’ we’re clear.”

Just then each boy felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

The convict had crept up behind them.

Slowly, dreading what they knew they were going to see, each turned his head.

They met the inquiring gaze of Jean Petit. His face was adorned by a grin which was intended to be amiable, but Tom and Dave felt that they had never witnessed anything more hideous.

“Ah, ha!” cried Jean Petit, in his own peculiar English, “what are you doing here, my children?”

“N—n—nothink, s—ir.” spluttered Tom, vainly trying to wriggle out of his captor’s clutch.

Now, when an Australian boy uses the word “sir” he is certainly afraid.

“Aha!” cried Petit, in a rasping voice.

“N—n—nothink!” repeated Dave, wriggling in such a way as to create the impression that he really did not mean to. “No, sir, n—nothink. We only just landed ’ere.”

Tom gave his mate a look of............