“So we will.” “And blow the bronze door open.” “And read the magic leaves.” “And go on down the footpath.” “And talk to the people under the golden dome flowers.” “I’m sure _we_ could find the door.” “We _will_ find it.” “Very soon.” “Some day.” Watching the swan among the glittering ripples, they cracked the rest of the nuts, and did not get up to go till the sun was getting low. It was not a wild swan, but one whose feathers had not been clipped. The wind rose a little, and sighed dreamily through the tops of the tall firs as they walked under them. They returned along the shore where the weeds came to the island, and had gone some way, when Mark suddenly caught hold of Bevis and drew him behind a bush. Volume Three, Chapter VI. NEW FORMOSA--THE MATCHLOCK. “What is it?” said Bevis. “I saw a savage.” “Where?” “In the sedges on the shore there,” pointing across the weeds. “I saw his head--he had no hat on.” “Quite sure?” Bevis looked, but could not see anything. “Almost very nearly quite sure.” They watched the sedges a long time, but saw nothing. “Was it Charlie, or Val, or Cecil?” “No, I don’t think so,” said Mark. “They could not get round either,” said Bevis. “If they crossed the Nile like we did, they could not get round.” “No.” “It could not have been anybody.” “I thought it was; but perhaps it was a crow flew up--it looked black.” “Sure to have been a crow. The sedges do not move.” “No, it was a mistake--they couldn’t get here.” They went on again and found a wild bullace. “This is the most wonderful island there ever was,” said Bevis; “there’s always something new on or about it. The swan--I shall shoot the swan. No, most likely it’s sacred, and the king of the country would have us hunted down if we killed it.” “And tied to a stake and tortured.” “Melted lead poured into our mouths, because we shot the sacred swan with leaden bullets.” “Awful. No, don’t shoot it. There are currant-trees on the island too--I’ve seen them, and there’s a gooseberry bush up in the top of an old willow that I saw,” said Mark. “Of course there are bananas; are there any breadfruit-trees here?” “Certain to be some somewhere.” “Melons and oranges.” “Of course, and grapes--those are grapes,” pointing to bryony-berries, “and pomegranates and olives.” “Yams and everything.” “Everything. I wonder if Pan will bark this time--I wonder if anything is gone,” said Bevis as they reached the stockade. Pan did not bark, and there was nothing missing.