The man called Evans came swaying along the canoe until he could look over his companion's shoulder. The paper had the appearance of a rough map. By much folding it was creased and worn to the pitch of separation, and the second man held the discoloured fragments together where they had parted. On it one could dimly make out, in almost obliterated pencil, the outline of the bay. "Here," said Evans, "is the reef, and here is the gap." He ran his thumb-nail over the chart. "This curved and twisting line is the river—I could do with a drink now!—and this star is the place." "You see this dotted line," said the man with the map; "it is a straight line, and runs from the opening of the reef to a clump of palm-trees. The star comes just where it cuts the river. We must mark the place as we go into the lagoon." "It's odd," said Evans, after a pause, "what these little marks down here are for. It looks like the plan of a house or something; but what all these little dashes, pointing this way and that, may mean I can't get a notion."

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