They pushed off with long poles, like punting, Pan swam out so soon as they had started, and was hauled on board. A short way from shore the channel was so deep the poles would not reach the bottom, but the raft had way on her and continued to move, and paddling with the poles they kept up the slow movement till they reached the shallows. Thence to Serendib they poled along, one each side. The end of the raft crashed in among the willow boughs, and the jerk as it grounded almost threw them down. Pan leaped off directly, and they followed, fastening the raft by the cord or painter to the willows. “Nothing but blue gums,” said Mark, who led the way. “What are these?” pointing to the wild parsnips or “gix” which rose as high as their heads, with hollow-jointed stalks and broad heads of minute white flowers. “It’s a new kind of bamboo,” said Bevis. “Listen! Pan’s hunting out the moorhens again. This is some kind of spice--you sniff--the air is heavy with the scent, just as it always is in the tropics.” As they pushed along they shook the meadowsweet flowers which grew very thickly, and the heavy perfume rose up. In a willow stole or blue gum Mark found the nest of a sedge bird, but empty, the young birds hatched long since. “Mind you don’t step on a crocodile,” said Mark, “you can’t see a bit.” The ground was so matted with vegetation that their feet never touched the earth at all, they trampled on grasses, rushes, meadowsweet, and triangular fluted carex sedges. Sometimes they approached the shore and saw several empty nests of moorhens and coots, but just above the level of the water. Sometimes their uncertain course led them in the interior to avoid thickets of elder. If they paused a moment they could hear the rustling as water-fowl rushed away. Pan had gone beyond hearing now. Presently they came on a small pool surrounded with sedges--a black-headed bunting watched them from a branch opposite. “No fish,” said Bevis: they could see the bottom of the shallow water. “Herons and kingfishers have had them of course.” Crashing through the new bamboos they at last reached the southern extremity of the island, where the shallow sea was covered with the floating leaves of weeds, over which blue dragon-flies flew to and fro. “Everything’s gone to the river again,” said Mark; “and where’s Pan? He’s gone too, I dare say.” A short bark in that direction in a few minutes made them look at an islet round which reed-mace rose in a tall fringe, and there was Pan creeping up out of the weeds, dragging his body after him on to the firm ground. He set up a great yelping on the islet. “Something’s been there,” said Bevis. “Perhaps it’s the thing that makes the curious wave. Pan! Pan!”--whistling. Pan would not come: he was too excited. “We must come here in the evening,” said Bevis, “and make an ambush. There’s heaps of moorhens.”