"
"Which means?" asked Harry, whose French came only in spots.
"Sunshine," I told him. "Presumably after the glorious King of
the Incas, who calls himself the Child of the Sun. But it's a
good name. May Heaven grant that it takes us there!"
"I think we ought to take more grub," said Harry--an observation
which he had made not less than fifty times in the preceding
fifty minutes. He received no support and grumbled to himself
something about the horrible waste of leaving so much behind.
Why it was I don't know, but we were fully persuaded that we were
about to say good-by forever to this underground world and its
dangers. Somehow, we had coaxed ourselves into the belief that
success was certain; it was as though we had seen the sunlight
streaming in from the farther end of the arched tunnel into which
the stream disappeared. There was an assurance about the words of
each that strengthened this feeling in the others, and hope had
shut out all thought of failure as we prepared to launch our
craft.
It took us some time to get it to the edge of the water, though
it was close by, for we handled it with extreme care, that it
might not be torn on the rocks.
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