"Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. " "No fear of that," rejoined Rowland: "such vermin never dare to show themselves in this privileged district. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. "Whist!" exclaimed Terence; "he elevates his glim. The child was now within reach; and, in another moment, he would have executed his deadly purpose, if an arm from behind had not felled him to the ground. " "The same who was here just now?" "No, Sir Rowland, a much finer boy.
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