“Twenty degrees north latitude,” he said. “It’s not on the equator.” “But it’s in the tropics.” “O, yes!--it’s in Cancer, right enough. It’s better than the Equator: they are obliged to lie still there all day long; and it’s all swamps and steaming moisture and fevers and malaria.” “Much nicer here.” “O! Much nicer.” “How lucky! This island is put just right.” “The very spot!” “There ought to be a ditch outside the palisade,” said Mark. “Like they have outside tents to run the water away when it rains. I’ve seen them round tents.” “So there ought. We’ll dig it.” They fetched the spades and shovelled away half an hour, but it was very warm, and they sat down presently inside the fence, which began to cast a shadow. “We ought to have some blacks to do this sort of work,” said Mark. “White people can’t slave in the tropics,” said Bevis. “Let’s do nothing now for a while.” “Lemonade,” said Mark. Bevis nodded; and Mark fetched and opened a bottle, then another. “There are only four left,” he said. “A ship ought to come every year with these kind of things,” said Bevis. “It ought to be wrecked, and then we could get the best things from the wreck. Shall we do some more shooting?” “Practising. We ought to practise with ball; but we said we would not till we had a sight.” “But it’s loaded with shot, and it’s my turn; and there’s nothing for supper, or dinner to-morrow.” “No more there is. One thing, though, if we practise shooting, we shall frighten all the birds away.” “Ducks,” said Mark, “flappers and coots, and moorhens, they’re all about in the evening. The sun’s going down: let’s shoot one.” “Very well.” Mark got down the matchlock, and lit the match. He went first, and Bevis followed, two or three yards behind, with Pan. They walked as quietly as possible along the path they had made round the island, glancing out over the water at intervals. As they approached the other end of the island, where the ground was low and thick with reed-grass and sedges, they moved still more gently. They saw two young ducks, but they were too far; and whether they heard or suspected something swam in among a bed of rushes on a shoal. Mark stooped, and went down to the water’s edge. Bevis stooped and followed, and there they set up the gun on the rest, hidden behind the fringe of sedges and reed-grass they had left when cutting them for the roof. The muzzle almost, but not quite, protruded through the sedges, and they sat down to wait on some of the dry grasses they had reaped, but did not carry, not requiring all they had cut. The ground so near the edge was soft and yielding, and this dry hay of sedge and flag better to sit on. Bevis held Pan by the collar, and they waited a long time while the sun sank to the north-westwards, almost in front, of them. “No twilight in the tropics,” whispered Mark.