Volume Two, Chapter XVI. NEW FORMOSA--MORNING IN THE TROPICS. The flames darted up, and mingling with the moonlight cast a reddish-yellow glare on the green-roofed hut, the yellowy cliff of sand, throwing their shadows on the fence, and illuming Pan, who sat at the door of the hut. The lantern, which Bevis had left on the floor, was just behind the spaniel. Outside the stockade the trees of the wood cast shadows towards them; the moon shone high in the sky. The weird calls of water-fowl came from a distance; the sticks crackled and hissed. Else all was silent, and the smoke rose straight into the still air. “Green eyes glaring at you in the black wood,” said Bevis. “Huge creatures, with prickles on their backs, and stings: the ground heaves underneath, and up they come; one claw first--you see it poking through a chink--and then hot poisonous breath--” “Let’s make a circle,” said Mark. “Quick! Let’s lock the gate.” “Lock the gate!” Mark padlocked it. “I’ll mark the wizard’s foot on it. There,”--Bevis drew the five-angled mark with his pencil on the boards--“there, now they’re just done.” “They can’t come in.” “No.” “But we might see them?” “Perhaps, yes.” “Let’s play cards, and not look round.” “All right. Bezique. But the kettle’s boiling. I’ll make the tea.” He took the kettle off and filled the teapot. “We ought to have a damper,” he said. “So we did: I’ll make it.” Mark went into the hut and got some flour, and set to work and made a paste: you see, if you are busy, you do not know about things that look like shadows, but are not shadows. He pounded away at the paste; and after some time produced a thick flat cake of dough, which they put in the ashes and covered over. They put two boards for a table on the ground, in front of the hut door and away from the fire, and set the lantern at one end of the table. Bevis brought the teapot and the tin mugs, for they had forgotten cups and saucers, and made tea; while Mark buttered a heap of biscuits. “Load the matchlock,” said Bevis. Mark loaded the gun, and leaned it by the door-post at their backs, but within reach. Bevis put his bow and two arrows close at his side, as he sat down, because he could shoot quicker with his bow in case of a sudden surprise, than with the matchlock. The condensed milk took a few minutes to get ready, and then they began. The corner of the hut kept off the glow from the fire; they leaned their backs against the door-posts, one each side, and Pan came in between. He gobbled up the buttered biscuits, being perfectly civilised; now from one, now from the other, as fast as they liked to let him. “This is the jolliest tea there ever was,” said Mark. “Isn’t it jolly to be seven thousand miles from anywhere?” “No bothers,” said Bevis, waving his hand as if to keep people at a distance. “Nothing but niceness.” “And do as you please.” “Had enough?” “Yes. Bezique.” “I’ll deal.” “No--no; cut.”