The more one thinks of these things, and the deeper one dives into the mysteries of nature, the more profoundly is one impressed at once with a humbling sense of the limited amount of one’s knowledge, and an awe-inspiring appreciation of the illimitable fields suggested by that comprehensive expression:  “THE WONDERFUL WORKS OF GOD.”

CHAPTER XXX.

COMING EVENTS, ETC.—­WONDERFUL CHANGES AMONG THE ISLANDS.

Some days after the wreck of the Sunshine, as described in a previous chapter, Captain Roy and his son stood on the coast of Java not far from the ruins of Anjer.  A vessel was anchored in the offing, and a little boat lay on the shore.

All sign of elemental strife had passed, though a cloud of smoke hanging over the remains of Krakatoa told that the terrible giant below was not dead but only sleeping—­to awake, perchance, after a nap of another 200 years.

“Well, father,” said our hero with a modest look, “it may be, as you suggest, that Winnie Van der Kemp does not care for me more than for a fathom of salt water——­”

“I did not say salt water, lad, I said bilge—­a fathom o’ bilge water,” interrupted the captain, who, although secretly rejoiced at the fact of his son having fallen over head and ears in love with the pretty little Cocos-Keeling islander, deemed it his duty, nevertheless, as a sternly upright parent, to, make quite sure that the love was mutual as well as deep before giving his consent to anything like courtship.

“It matters not; salt or bilge water makes little difference,” returned the son with a smile.  “But all I can say is that I care for Winnie so much that her love is to me of as much importance as sunshine to the world—­and we have had some experience lately of what the want of that means.”

“Nonsense, Nigel,” returned the captain severely.  “You’re workin’ yourself into them up-in-the-clouds, reef-point-patterin’ regions again—­which, by the way, should be pretty well choked wi’ Krakatoa dust by this time.  Come down out o’ that if ye want to hold or’nary intercourse wi’ your old father.  She’s far too young yet, my boy.  You must just do as many a young fellow has done before you, attend to your dooties and forget her.”

“Forget her!” returned the youth, with that amused, quiet expression which wise men sometimes assume when listening to foolish suggestions.  “I could almost as easily forget my mother!”

“A very proper sentiment, Nigel, very—­especially the ‘almost’ part of it.”

“Besides,” continued the son, “she is not so very young—­and that difficulty remedies itself every hour.  Moreover, I too am young.  I can wait.”

“The selfishness of youth is only equalled by its presumption,” said the captain.  “How d’ee know she will wait?”

“I don’t know, father, but I hope she will—­I—­I—­think she will.”