of the place were connected with Government.  The rest of the population was composed of a heterogeneous mass of natives mingled with a number of Chinese, a few Arabs, and a large fluctuating population of traders from Borneo, Celebes, New Guinea, Siam, and the other innumerable isles of the archipelago.  These were more or less connected with praus laden with the rich and varied merchandise of the eastern seas.  As each man in the town had been permitted to build his house according to his own fancy, picturesque irregularity was the agreeable result.  It may be added that, as each man spoke his own language in his own tones, Babel and noise were the consequence.

In a small hut by the waterside the hermit found the friend—­a Malay—­to whom his canoe had been consigned, and, in a long low shed close by, he found the canoe itself with the faithful Spinkie in charge.

“Don’t go near the canoe till you’ve made friends with the monkey,” said the Malay in his own tongue, as he was about to put the key in the door.

“Why not?” asked the hermit.

“Because it is the savagest brute I ever came across,” said the man.  “It won’t let a soul come near the canoe.  I would have killed it long ago if the captain of the steamer had not told me you wished it to be taken great care of.  There, look out!  The vixen is not tied up.”

He flung open the shed-door and revealed Spinkie seated in his old place, much deteriorated in appearance and scowling malevolently.

The instant the poor creature heard its master’s voice and saw his form—­for his features must have been invisible against the strong light—­the scowl vanished from its little visage.  With a shriek of joy it sprang like an acrobat from a spring-board and plunged into the hermit’s bosom—­to the alarm of the Malay, who thought this was a furious attack.  We need not say that Van der Kemp received his faithful little servant kindly, and it was quite touching to observe the monkey’s intense affection for him.  It could not indeed wag its tail like a dog, but it put its arms round its master’s neck with a wondrously human air, and rubbed its little head in his beard and whiskers, drawing itself back now and then, putting its black paws on his cheeks, turning his face round to the light and opening its round eyes wide—­as well as its round little mouth—­as if to make sure of his identity—­then plunging into the whiskers again, and sometimes, when unable to contain its joy, finding a safety-valve in a little shriek.

When the meeting and greeting were over, Van der Kemp explained that he would require his canoe by daybreak the following morning, ordered a few provisions to be got ready, and turned to leave.

“You must get down, Spinkie, and watch the canoe for one night more,” said the hermit, quietly.

But Spinkie did not seem to perceive the necessity, for he clung closer to his master with a remonstrative croak.