The house of the “King” was a commodious, comfortable building in the midst of a garden, in which there were roses in great profusion, as well as fruit-trees and flowering shrubs.  Each Keeling family possessed a neat well-furnished plank cottage enclosed in a little garden, besides a boat-house at the water-edge on the inner or lagoon side of the reef, and numerous boats were lying about on the white sand.  The islanders, being almost born sailors, were naturally very skilful in everything connected with the sea.  There was about them a good deal of that kindly innocence which one somehow expects to find associated with a mild paternal government and a limited intercourse with the surrounding world, and Nigel was powerfully attracted by them from the first.

After an extensive ramble, during which Mr. Ross plied the captain with eager questions as to the latest news from the busy centres of civilisation—­especially with reference to new inventions connected with engineering—­the island king left them to their own resources till dinner-time, saying that he had duties to attend to connected with the kingdom!

“Now, boy,” said the captain when their host had gone, “what’ll ’ee do?  Take a boat and have a pull over the lagoon, or go with me to visit a family I’m particularly fond of, an’ who are uncommon fond o’ me!"

“Visit the family, of course,” said Nigel.  “I can have a pull any day.”

“Come along then.”

He led the way to one of the neatest of the plank cottages, which stood on the highest ridge of the island, so that from the front windows it commanded a view of the great blue ocean with its breakers that fringed the reef as with a ring of snow, while, on the opposite side, lay the peaceful waters and islets of the lagoon.

A shout of joyful surprise was uttered by several boys and girls at sight of the captain, for during his former visit he had won their hearts by telling them wild stories of the sea, one half of each story being founded on fact and personal experience, the other half on a vivid imagination!

“We are rejoiced to see you,” said the mother of the juveniles, a stout woman of mixed nationality—­that of Dutch apparently predominating.  She spoke English, however, remarkably well, as did many of the Cocos people, though Malay is the language of most of them.

The boys and girls soon hauled the captain down on a seat and began to urge him to tell them stories, using a style of English that was by no means equal to that of the mother.

“Stop, stop, let me see sister Kathy first.  I can’t begin without her.  Where is she?”

“Somewhere, I s’pose,” said the eldest boy.

“No doubt of that.  Go—­fetch her,” returned the captain.

At that moment a back-door opened, and a girl of about seventeen years of age entered.  She was pleasant-looking rather than pretty—­tall, graceful, and with magnificent black eyes.