CHAPTER THREE. 

DESCRIBES THE DEED OF AN AMATEUR MATADOR AND THE WORK OF A ROUGH-AND-READY SHOEMAKER. 

When the day began to break Hockins awoke, and his first impulse was to shout "hold on!" Ebony's first action was to let go, thereby bringing himself to the ground with an awful thud, which would have told severely on any one less akin to india-rubber. 

For a few minutes Mark Breezy, holding tight to his particular branch, looked down at his companions, yawned heavily, and smiled a little. Then a sudden impulse of memory caused him to look grave. 

"Come," he said, dropping lightly from his perch, "these natives may have been searching for us all night, and are perhaps nearer than we suppose. I vote that we push on at once." 

"Agreed," said Hockins, stretching himself. 

"No fear, Massa," remarked the negro. "If it wur moonlight dey might 'ave search, but whar de nights am dark dey knows better. De niggahs in dis yer island hab got skins an' eyes an' noses. If dey was to go troo such woods in de dark, dey hab no skins or eyes or noses in de mornin'-- leas'wise nuffin' wuth mentionin'. Cause why? Dey'd all git knocked into a sorter mush. Plenty ob time for breakfast 'fore we start." 

"That's true, boy," said Hockins, "but where's the breakfast to come from?" 

"What! you no bringed nuffin' in your pockits?" asked the negro with a look of visible anxiety on his expressive face. 

Hockins turned his various pockets inside out by way of reply. 
could they have food?
unknown