Martin Rattler. Robert Michael Ballantyne

hermit—for such he appeared to be—betrayed no symptom of surprise or fear at the sudden sound; but rising quietly, though quickly, from his seat took down a musket that hung on the wall, and, stepping to the open door, demanded sternly, in the Portuguese language, “Who goes there?”

      “Arrah, then, if ye’d help a fellow-cratur to rise, instead o’ talkin’ gibberish like that, it would be more to your credit!” exclaimed the Irishman, as he scrambled to his feet and presented himself, along with Martin, at the hermit’s door.

      A peculiar smile lighted up the man’s features as he retreated into the hut and invited the strangers to enter.

      “Come in,” said he, in good English, although with a slightly foreign accent. “I am most happy to see you. You are English. I know the voice and the language very well. Lived among them once, but long time past now—very long. Have not seen one of you for many years.”

      With many such speeches, and much expression of good-will, the hospitable hermit invited Martin and his companion to sit down at his rude table, on which he quickly spread several plates of ripe and dried fruits, a few cakes, and a jar of excellent honey, with a stone bottle of cool water. When they were busily engaged with these viands, he began to make inquiries as to where his visitors had come from.

      “We’ve comed from the sae,” replied Barney, as he devoted himself to a magnificent pine-apple. “Och but yer victuals is mighty good, Mister—what’s yer name?—’ticklerly to them that’s a’most starvin’.”

      “The fact is,” said Martin, “our ship has been taken by pirates, and we two swam ashore, and lost ourselves in the woods; and now we have stumbled upon your dwelling, friend, which is a great comfort.”

      “Hoigh, an’ that’s true,” sighed Barney, as he finished the last slice of the pine-apple.

      They now explained to their entertainer all the circumstances attending the capture of the Firefly, and their subsequent adventures and vicissitudes in the forest; all of which Barney detailed in a most graphic manner, and to all of which their new friend listened with grave attention and unbroken silence. When they had concluded he said,—“Very good. You have seen much in very short time. Perhaps you shall see more by-and-by. For the present you will go to rest, for you must be fatigued. I will think to-night,—to-morrow I will speak.”

      “An’, if I may make so bould,” said Barney, glancing with a somewhat rueful expression round the hard earthen floor of the hut, “whereabouts may I take the liberty o’ sleepin’?”

      The hermit replied by going to a corner, whence, from beneath a heap of rubbish, he dragged two hammocks, curiously wrought in a sort of light net-work. These he slung across the hut at one end, from wall to wall, and, throwing a sheet or coverlet into each, he turned with a smile to his visitors,—“Behold your beds! I wish you a very good sleep,—adios!”