Swallows and Amazons. Arthur Ransome

      “If you know English there’s no need,” said John.

      “Glook,” said the female native. “That means, all right. Now I hope you are going to let the natives see your camp, so that we can help to carry up the haybags.”

      Mr. Jackson, the farmer from Holly Howe, had taken all four haybags out of the boat. He was a very powerful, strong native, and he picked up three of the haybags together and hove them up on his shoulders. John and Susan carried the fourth. Roger took the female native by the hand and Titty showed the way to the tents.

      “Well, you have got a lovely camp,” said the female native.

      “Isn’t it?” said Susan. “Would you like to come inside this tent?”

      The female native stooped and went in. Mr. Jackson dumped down his haybags.

      “Come on, Roger,” said John, “let’s get our tent all ready before she comes in.”

      John took hold of one end of a haybag. Roger helped, and between them they pulled first one and then another haybag into their tent. They put one on each side of the tent, punched them and shook them until they were fairly even and covered them with their folded blankets. Then they lay down, each on his bed.

      Meanwhile Susan and the female native were making up the beds in the other tent. Mr. Jackson had gone back to his boat.

      Presently the female native put her head into the captain’s tent.

      “You look comfortable enough in here,” she said, “but what are you going to do when it gets dark?”

      “We ought to have brought two lanterns,” said John. “I forgot about that. We’ve only got the big lantern for the whole camp.”

      “I’ve brought you two small candle-lanterns, one for each tent if you promise to be careful with them and not set the tents or yourselves on fire. Where is the oil for the big lantern?”

      “Just outside the tent,” said John.

      “You ought to keep it in a safe place well away from the camp and from the fire.”

      Just then that powerful native, Mr. Jackson, came back with another load from the boat.

      “Come along out,” said the female native. “I am not going to stop here now, because Mr. Jackson must be getting back to his farm. But there are several things to be settled. First of all, about the milk. There are no cows on your island, so you will have to go to the mainland for milk. I have arranged with the farm over there, Dixon’s Farm, to let you have a quart of milk every morning. If you want more in the evening, Mrs. Dixon will let you have it. But every morning you must row over there to bring your milk. You can see their landing-place by the big oak tree. Thank you, Mr. Jackson.”

      The powerful native had put down a big basket that he had brought up from the boat. In it was a milk-can and a lot of other things. The female native began taking them out as if she were digging the presents out of a bran pie.

      “Here is the milk-can for you,” she said, “and mind you keep the milk as cool as you can during the day. Keep it out of the sun and do remember to wash the can very clean before you take it up to the farm for more. Then, for to-morrow, I’ve brought you a meat pie Mrs. Jackson cooked to-day. You will soon get tired of living on corned beef.”

      “Pemmican,” said Titty.

      “Pemmican,” said the female native. “So if I were you I should only open a pemmican tin when you haven’t anything else that you can eat without cooking. By the way, Susan is the chief cook, isn’t she?”

      “Yes,” said Captain John.

      “Then I’ll give the stores over to her. There is the pie. Then I’ve brought a box of Force for breakfast. Susan is going to have a busy time without having to cook porridge in the mornings.”

      “I like cooking,” said Mate Susan.

      “If you want to go on liking it,” said the female native, “take my advice and make the others do the washing up.”

      Mr. Jackson came up again from the boat, carrying a big sack.

      “Mrs. Jackson has been good enough to let you have your pillows here,” said the female native. “You can sleep without them, I know, but a pillow makes such a lot of difference that I’m sure Christopher Columbus himself always took his own pillow with him.”

      The pillows were taken out and two were taken into each tent.

      “Did you see the pirate with the parrot?” asked Titty when she came out after stowing her pillow.

      “What pirate?” asked the female native.

      “The one on the houseboat. We saw him. And his parrot.”

      Mr. Jackson laughed. “So that’s what you call him,” he said. “I dare say you’re right.”

      “I saw the houseboat,” said the female native.

      “It’s Mr. Turner,” said the powerful native. “He usually lives on the houseboat in summer-time. This year he won’t let anyone go near him. Last year those Blackett girls, nieces of his from the other side of the lake, were always with him. Not this year though. Keeps himself to himself this summer, does Mr. Turner. No one knows what he does there, but they do say he’s got things in that houseboat worth a fortune.”

      “That’s his treasure,” said Titty. “I knew he was a retired pirate. Of course he can’t let anybody go near it.”

      “Vicky will be wanting me,” said the female native, “so I won’t stay with you. And anyhow you don’t want too many natives about, I’m sure. It’s beginning to get dark and if I were you I should be early to sleep, for the sun will wake you in the morning, even if the birds don’t.”

      “Thank you ever so much for bringing the things,” said Susan.

      “Specially the lanterns,” said Titty.

      “Glook, glook, glook,” said the female native, as she began to walk down to the landing-place. “No, I think I won’t have any tea, thank you. You’ve had yours and day is nearly over. Oh,” she added, “there’s one thing I’d forgotten.” She went for a moment into the captain’s tent and came out again smiling. Then, as she walked down to the boat she said to John, “I’m not going to keep on coming to bother you.”

      “You don’t bother us, mother,” said John.

      “I’m not going to anyhow, but I’m going to ask you to let me know every two or three days – or oftener if you like – that everything is all right. You’ll be wanting provisions, you know, and we natives can always supply them. So you’ll be calling now and then at Holly Howe, won’t you?”

      “I’ll come to-morrow, if you like,” said John.

      “Yes, I’d like to know how the first night went.”

      “What did you do in my tent just now, mother?” said John.

      “You’ll see when you get back.”

      The female native stepped into the boat and went to the stern and sat down. Mr. Jackson, that strong native, pushed the big boat off, kneeling on the gunwale of her as she slid away. He had the oars out in a moment and pulled away into the evening.

      “Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, mother,” shouted the Swallow’s crew. “Good-bye, Mr. Jackson.”

      “Good night to you,” said Mr. Jackson.

      “Drool,” said the female native; “that means good night and sleep well.”

      “Drool, drool,” they shouted back.

      They ran to the head of the island, to the look-out place under the tall pine and waved as the boat with the natives rowed away into the dusk. Long after they could not see the boat they could see the white flashes