again smiling. Then, as she walked down to the boat she said to John, “I’m not going to keep on coming to bother you. …”
“You don’t bother us, mother,” said John.
“I’m not going to anyhow, but I’m going to ask you to let me know every two or three days—or oftener if you like—that everything is all right. You’ll be wanting provisions, you know, and we natives can always supply them. So you’ll be calling now and then at Holly Howe, won’t you?”
“I’ll come tomorrow, if you like,” said John.
“Yes, I’d like to know how the first night went.”
“What did you do in my tent just now, mother?” said John.
“You’ll see when you get back.”
The female native stepped into the boat and went to the stern and sat down. Mr. Jackson, that strong native, pushed the big boat off, kneeling on the gunwale of her as she slid away. He had the oars out in a moment and pulled away into the evening.
“Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, mother,” shouted the Swallow ’s crew. “Goodbye, Mr. Jackson.”
“Good night to you,” said Mr. Jackson.
“Drool,” said the female native; “that means good night and sleep well.”
“Drool, drool,” they shouted back.
They ran to the head of the island, to the lookout place under the tall pine and waved as the boat with the natives rowed away into the dusk. Long after they could not see the boat they could see the white flashes as