‘Papa,’ said Bell, excitedly, ‘we certainly are nearing the place. Do you see that bend in the shore, and don’t you remember that the landing isn’t far below?’ ‘Bell’s bump of locality is immense. There are nineteen bends in the shore exactly like that one before we reach the landing. How many knots an hour do you suppose this ship travels, my fair cousin?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I could tell better,’ replied Bell calmly, ‘if I could ever remember how many knots made a mile, or how many miles made a knot; but I always forget.’ ‘Oh, see! There’s a porpoise!’ cried Jack. ‘Polly, why is a porpoise like a water-lily?’ But before he could say ‘Guess,’ Phil, Geoff, and the girls had drawn themselves into a line, and, with a whispered ‘One, two, three,’ to secure a good start, replied in concert, ‘We-give-it-up!’ ‘What a deafening shout!’ cried Aunt Truth, coming out of the cabin. ‘What’s the matter, pray?’ ‘Nothing, aunty,’ laughed Polly. ‘But we have formed a society for suppressing Jack’s conundrums, and this is our first public meeting. How do you like the watchword?’ Aunt Truth smiled. ‘It was very audible,’ she said. ‘Yours is evidently not a secret society.’ ‘I wish I could find out who originated this plan,’ quoth Jack, murderously. ‘But I suppose it’s one of you girls, and I can’t revenge myself. Oh, when will this barrier between the sexes be removed!’ ‘I trust not in your lifetime,’ shuddered Polly, ‘or we might as well begin to “stand round our dying beds” at once.’ CHAPTER II THE JOURNEY ‘Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs, To the silent wilderness.’ WHATEVER the distance was in reality, the steamer had consumed more time than usual, and it was quite two o’clock, instead of half-past twelve, as they had expected, before they were landed on the old and almost forgotten pier, and saw the smoke of the Orizaba as she steamed away. After counting over their bags and packages to see if anything had been forgotten, they looked about them. [Picture: Coach of people being drawn by horses] There was a dirty little settlement, a mile or two to the south, consisting of a collection of tumble-down adobe houses which looked like a blotch on the brown hillside; a few cattle were browsing near by, and the locality seemed to be well supplied with lizards, which darted over the dusty ground in all directions. But the startling point of the landscape was that it showed no sign of human life, and Pancho’s orders had been to have Señor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega and his wood-cart on hand promptly at half-past twelve. ‘Can Pancho have forgotten?’ ‘Can he have lost his way and never arrived here at all?’ ‘Can Señor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega have grown tired of waiting and gone off?’ ‘Has Señor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega been drinking too much aguardiente and so forgotten to come?’