distance was increasing, when there came in good plain English: “I say, where are you going?”

“Up the river,” cried Ned in astonishment. “Know any more English? Where do you live? How far is it away from here, and what’s your name?”

The boy in the boat threw out his line again, and burst into a shout of laughter, greatly to Ned’s annoyance, for it sounded derisive; but there was no opportunity for further attempts at communication, for their boat swept round the bend, and it was plain enough whence the fishers had come, for, beautifully situated in a lake-like curve of the stream, they could see quite a pretentious-looking village with what was evidently a mosque, and just beyond it, a strong-looking stockade. The houses were of exactly the same type as those they had before passed, but in addition there were several of considerable size, whose sides were woven in striking patterns, while dense groves of cocoa, betel, and nipah palms added to the beauty of the scene.

Along the shore a dozen or two of boats were drawn up, while floating alone and doubled in the mirror-like water was a large prahu on whose deck several men were lolling about. Just then a naga or dragon, boat came swiftly from behind it, propelled by a dozen men in yellow jackets and scarlet caps, and three or four showily-costumed Malays could be seen seated and standing in the shade of the awning, which, like that of their own boat, was of palm-leaves or attap, but far more neatly-made.

“What place is this, Hamet?”

“Don’t know, sir,” he said. “Never been so far. It must be Campong Bukit, and that is one of the rajah’s boats.”

“What rajah?”

“Rajah of Dah. Great prince.”

“Ah, well, we may as well stop and land, and I daresay we can buy some fresh fruit and chickens and rice. What’s that?”

“Ibrahim says don’t stop—not good place,” replied Hamet, for one of the men had whispered to him.

“Oh, but Mr Wilson said this was an important village, and that there were English people here.”

The question of stopping or not was soon decided, for by a dexterous turn the dragon boat was swept across them, their way stopped, and one of the Malays beneath the awning shouted something imperiously to the men.

Hamet replied in Malay, while Murray strained his ears to try to pick up the meaning of some of the words, without success, and then turned impatiently to Hamet.

“What do they want?” he said.

“To know who you are, sir, and where you are going.”

“Tell him to mind his own business,” said Murray, sharply, and to Ned’s great delight. “No; it would be uncivil. Tell him I am an English gentleman travelling for my pleasure, and that we are going to land to look at the place and buy provisions.”

This was duly interpreted, a fresh answer made, and permission given, the naga being kept close alongside as they all rowed for what proved to be quite a respectable landing-place, that is to say, a roughly-made jetty formed by driving bamboos into the sand and mud.

“Ask him if there are not some English people here,” said Murray to Hamet.

“No, uncle, don’t. Look there, in front of those trees, there’s an Englishman with a white umbrella, and a lady with a parasol. Oh, I say, what a shame; she’s using an opera-glass—and you said we were coming up into quite a savage place.”

“So I did, Ned,” said his uncle, rubbing his ear; “but I can’t help it. Civilisation crops up everywhere now, and they say you can’t get away from cotton prints and Staffordshire pottery without running up against Sheffield knives.”

“But it is so disappointing. I say, look, and there’s another lady, and they’re going on to that jetty to see us come in. There’ll be a steamboat call next, and I daresay there’s a railway station somewhere among the trees.”

“Never mind, Ned,” said Murray, with a comical look of chagrin in his countenance. “We’ll only buy what we can and be off again directly. I certainly didn’t expect this. Why, there’s another Englishman,” he said, more loudly than he had intended, for they were close up to the jetty now, and the man of whom he had spoken, a red-faced youngish fellow in flannel shirt and trousers and a straw hat, said loudly:

“Not a bad shot, sor. Make it Oirish, and ye’ll be right.”

“I beg your pardon,” cried Murray, hastily raising his hat, and the salute was returned. “What place is this?”

“Dirthy Bucket, sor. Campong Bukit they call it. Are ye from home lately?”

“From England? Yes.”

All this was said as the boat glided along by the bamboo posts, and Murray added hastily: “Perhaps you would not mind helping us. We want to buy some provisions—something to eat.”

“Buy something to ate?” said the man, smiling. “Whisht, here’s the masther and the ladies.—Here’s an English gentleman, sor.”

There was rather an angry buzzing here from the dragon boat, as the gentleman with the white umbrella came on to the jetty, the two ladies with him remaining behind, while quite a little crowd of Malays began to collect on the river-bank.

“English gentleman?” said the newcomer. “Glad to see you, sir. From Singapore, I presume!”

“Not just lately; we have been staying at Dindong. We were on our way up the river, and this place seemed a likely one to lay in a store of fresh provisions. Am I right?”

“Perfectly. Come ashore, my dear sir. Your son?”

“Nephew,” replied Murray, and Ned bowed stiffly.

“Just as welcome in this savage place. This way; my bungalow is a very little way off.”

“But my boat, guns, and the like?”

“Be safe? Tim, jump in and take charge, while the gentlemen come up to tiffin.”

“But, sor, there’ll be nobody to—”

“Oh, never mind; we’ll manage. My factotum, butler, footman, groom, everything,” continued the stranger. “Did those fellows bring you in?”

“Not exactly. They showed us the way.”

“Hem!” said the stranger, with a dry cough; and he put up his white umbrella again. “Mind the sun?”

“Oh, no; we are getting a bit acclimatised.”

“You’re lucky then; I’m not. My dears, gentlemen from home. Mr—Mr—?”

“Murray.”

“Mr Murray. My wife and daughter. Oh, by the way, forgot to introduce myself: Barnes, Doctor Barnes, resident physician to His Highness the Rajah of Dah, in whose capital you stand. My dear, Mr Murray and his nephew have kindly consented to take tiffin with us.”

“You are very kind,” said Murray, hesitating.

“No apologies are necessary,” said the elder of the two ladies, rather a yellow, quick-spoken body; and she made as if to take the newcomer’s arm. “We are only too glad to see a fresh face—a white one, are we not, Amy?”

“Indeed we are, mamma,” said the bright-looking girl addressed, and in a half-amused way, she took Ned’s arm as her father went on in front.

“I little thought of seeing English visitors,” she continued. “Shall I be impertinent if I ask why you have come so far?”

“Oh no!” said Ned rather brusquely, for he resented the questioning. “Uncle and I have come up on a sporting and natural history trip. We are going on directly.”

“Indeed! Then the rajah has given you leave?”

“What rajah? The man here?”

“Yes,” said the girl, smiling.

“Oh no! We did not know it was necessary. Uncle will ask him then, I suppose. Does he call it his property?”

The girl looked round at him in surprise,—

“Oh yes; he is the rajah or prince of the country.”

“Yes; but I thought all this belonged to the Queen.”

“Well, I suppose it does, but our prince here thinks he is as important a person as the queen of England, and does exactly as he likes.”

“Oh!”

“You must recollect that we are a very very long