We
told him that we should have to leave him there to die, for we must
press on to the sea, but he cured himself by eating a magic
sweet-fern leaf and came running after us, tripping over his sash.
The _trekking_ took a long time, and when we reached the end of the
point we were quite exhausted and flung our weary frames down on the
tropic sand to rest. All at once Jerry clutched my arm and said:
"Look yonder, Hole! Does not yon strange form appear to you like the
topper-most minaret of a sunken tower?"
He was pointing at the Sea Monster, and it really did look much more
like a rough sort of dome than a monster's head. There was a lot of
haze in the air, which made it look bluish and mysterious instead of
rocky.
"It do indeed, sir," I said. "Could it be that city we be seeking?"
"Would that we had a boat!" said Greg, which might have been quite
proper if he'd been somebody else, instead of Baroo.
We'd been sprawling on the sand again for quite a while, when Jerry
suddenly jumped up and shouted:
"Glory! Look, Chris!" not at all like Terry Loganshaw.
I did look, and saw what he had seen. It was an empty boat, a sort
of dinghy, bobbing and butting along beside the rocks a little way
down the shore. We all ran helter-skelter, and Jerry pulled off his
shoes like a flash and waded out and pulled the boat in.
"It's one of those old tubs from around the ferry-landing," he said.
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