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 ment, however brief, that she might press her baby tightly in her arms. She could scarce wait for the coming of 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.

The Swede called out a number of times before he could obtain a reply from the village, and then only because he had been expected, so fearful are the natives of voices out of the darkness of the night. He helped Jane Clayton ashore with the baby, tied the boat to a small bush, and picking up their blankets, led her toward the 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