As the two chests were being carried into the central campong, Sing, who was standing near Virginia, called her attention to the fact that Bududreen was one of those who staggered beneath the weight of the heavier burden. “Bludleen, him mate. Why workee alsame lascar boy? Eh?” But Virginia could give no reason. “I am afraid you don’t like Bududreen, Sing,” she said. “Has he ever harmed you in any way?” “Him? No, him no hurt Sing. Sing poor,” with which more or less enigmatical rejoinder the Chinaman returned to his work. But he muttered much to himself the balance of the day, for Sing knew that a chest that strained four men in the carrying could contain but one thing, and he knew that Bududreen was as wise in such matters as he. For a couple of months the life of the little hidden camp went on peacefully and without exciting incident. The Malay and lascar crew divided their time between watch duty on board the Ithaca, policing the camp, and cultivating a little patch of clearing just south of their own campong. There was a small bay on the island’s east coast, only a quarter of a mile from camp, in which oysters were found, and one of the Ithaca’s boats was brought around to this side of the island for fishing. Bududreen often accompanied these expeditions, and on several occasions the lynx-eyed Sing had seen him returning to camp long after the others had retired for the night. Professor Maxon scarcely ever left the central enclosure. For days and nights at a time Virginia never saw him, his meals being passed in to him by Sing through a small trap door that had been cut in the partition wall of the “court of mystery” as von Horn had christened the section of the camp devoted to the professor’s experimentations. Von Horn himself was often with his employer, as he enjoyed the latter’s complete confidence, and owing to his early medical training was well fitted to act as a competent assistant; but he was often barred from the workshop, and at such times was much with Virginia. The two took long walks through the untouched jungle, exploring their little island, and never failing to find some new and wonderful proof of Nature’s creative power among its flora and fauna. “What a marvellous thing is creation,” exclaimed Virginia as she and von Horn paused one day to admire a tropical bird of unusually brilliant plumage. “How insignificant is man’s greatest achievement beside the least of Nature’s works.” “And yet,” replied von Horn, “man shall find Nature’s secret some day. What a glorious accomplishment for him who first succeeds. Can you imagine a more glorious consummation of a man’s life work—your father’s, for example?” The girl looked at von Horn closely.