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the girl could not ascribe to any particular night prowler--more terrible because of
their mystery.
Huddled in the stern of the boat she sat with her baby strained close to her
bosom, and because of that little tender, helpless thing she was happier tonight
than she had been for many a sorrow-ridden day.
Even though she knew not to what fate she was going, or how soon that fate
might overtake her, still was she happy and thankful for the moment, however
brief, that she might press her baby tightly in her arms. She could scarce wait
for the coming of the day that she might look again upon the bright face of her
little, black-eyed Jack.
Again and again she tried to strain her eyes through the blackness of the jungle
night to have but a tiny peep at those beloved features, but only the dim outline
of the baby face rewarded her efforts. Then once more she would cuddle the
warm, little bundle close to her throbbing heart.
It must have been close to three o'clock in the morning that Anderssen brought
the boat's nose to the shore before a clearing where could be dimly seen in the
waning moonlight a cluster of native huts encircled by a thorn boma.
At the village gate they were admitted by a native woman, the wife of the chief
whom Anderssen had paid to assist him. She took them to the chief's hut, but
Anderssen said that they would sleep without upon the ground, and so, her duty
having been completed, she left them to their own devices.
The Swede, after explaining in his gruff way that the huts were doubtless filthy
and vermin-ridden, spread Jane's blankets on the ground for her, and at a little
distance unrolled his own and lay down to sleep.
It was some time before the girl could find a comfortable position upon the hard
ground, but at last, the baby in the hollow of her arm, she dropped asleep from
utter exhaustion. When she awoke it was broad daylight.
About her were clustered a score of curious natives--mostly men, for among the
aborigines it is the male who owns this characteristic in its most exaggerated
form. Instinctively Jane Clayton drew the baby more closely to her, though she
soon saw that the blacks were far from intending her or the child any harm.
In fact, one of them offered her a gourd of milk--a filthy, smoke-begrimed gourd,
with the ancient rind of long-curdled milk caked in layers within its neck; but the
spirit of the giver touched her deeply, and her face lightened for a moment with
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