CHAPTER XXI
THE GARLAND OF FLOWERS
You could just make the figure out lying on the reef near the littlecask, and comfortably sheltered from the sun by an upstanding lump ofcoral.
“He’s asleep,” said Dick.
He had not thought to look towards the reef from the beach, or he mighthave seen the figure before.
“Dicky!” said Emmeline.
“Well?”
“How did he get over, if you said the dinghy was tied to the tree?”
“I don’t know,” said Dick, who had not thought of this; “there he is,anyhow. I’ll tell you what, Em, we’ll row across and wake him. I’ll boointo his ear and make him jump.”
They got down from the rock, and came back down through the wood. Asthey came Emmeline picked flowers and began making them up into one ofher wreaths. Some scarlet hibiscus, some bluebells, a couple of palepoppies with furry stalks and bitter perfume.
“What are you making that for?” asked Dick, who always viewedEmmeline’s wreath-making with a mixture of compassion and vague disgust.
“I’m going to put it on Mr Button’s head,” said Emmeline; “so’s whenyou say boo into his ear he’ll jump up with it on.”
Dick chuckled with pleasure at the idea of the practical joke, andalmost admitted in his own mind for a moment, that after all theremight be a use for such futilities as wreaths.
The dinghy was moored under the spreading shade of the aoa, the paintertied to one of the branches that projected over the water. These dwarfaoas branch in an extraordinary way close to the ground, throwing outlimbs like rails. The tree had made a good protection for the littleboat, protecting it from marauding hands and from the sun; besides theprotection of the tree Paddy had now and then scuttled the boat inshallow water. It was a new boat to start with, and with precautionslike these might be expected to last many years.
“Get in,” said Dick, pulling on the painter so that the bow of thedinghy came close to the beach.
Emmeline got carefully in, and went aft. Then Dick got in, pushed off,and took to the sculls. Next moment they were out on the sparklingwater.
Dick rowed cautiously, fearing to wake the sleeper. He fastened thepainter to the coral spike that seemed set there by nature for thepurpose. He scrambled on to the reef, and lying down on his stomachdrew the boat’s gunwale close up so that Emmeline might land. He had noboots on the soles of his feet, from constant exposure, had becomeinsensitive as leather.
Emmeline also was without boots. The soles of her feet, as is alwaysthe case with highly nervous people, were sensitive, and she walkeddelicately, avoiding the worst places, holding her wreath in her righthand.
It was full tide, and the thunder of the waves outside shook the reef.It was like being in a church when the deep bass of the organ is turnedfull on, shaking the ground and the air, the walls and the roof. Dashesof spray came over with the wind, and the melancholy “Hi, hi!” of thewheeling gulls came like the voices of ghostly sailor-men hauling atthe halyards.
Paddy was lying on his right side steeped in profound oblivion. Hisface was buried in the crook of his right arm, and his brown tattooedleft hand lay on his left thigh, palm upwards. He had no hat, and thebreeze stirred his grizzled hair.
Dick and Emmeline stole up to him till they got right beside him. ThenEmmeline, flashing out a laugh, flung the little wreath of flowers onthe old man’s head, and Dick, popping down on his knees, shouted intohis ear. But the dreamer did not stir or move a finger.
“Paddy,” cried Dick, “wake up! wake up!”
He pulled at the shoulder till the figure from its sideways posturefell over on its back. The eyes were wide open and staring. The mouthhung open, and from the mouth darted a little crab; it scuttled overthe chin and dropped on the coral.
Emmeline screamed, and screamed, and would have fallen, but the boycaught her in his arms—one side of the face had been destroyed by thelarvæ of the rocks.
He held her to him as he stared at the terrible figure lying upon itsback, hands outspread. Then, wild with terror, he dragged her towardsthe little boat. She was struggling, and panting and gasping, like aperson drowning in ice-cold water.
His one instinct was to escape, to fly—anywhere, no matter where. Hedragged the girl to the coral edge, and pulled the boat up close. Hadthe reef suddenly become enveloped in flames he could not have exertedhimself more to escape from it and save his companion. A moment laterthey were afloat, and he was pulling wildly for the shore.
He did not know what had happened, nor did he pause to think: he wasfleeing from horror—nameless horror; whilst the child at his feet,with her head resting against the gunwale, stared up open-eyed andspeechless at the great blue sky, as if at some terror visible there.The boat grounded on the white sand, and the wash of the incoming tidedrove it up sideways.
Emmeline had fallen forward; she had lost consciousness.