CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. 15 



The spoons also are cleaned in the same way, and 

 were it not that my eyes had beheld the proce 

 polishing, I should not believe, as they nestled inno- 

 cently together on the rough table, but that they had 

 been subjected to the treatment customary in more civil- 

 ized communities. My tin camp-cup, which has accom- 

 panied me in all my camp-life, was often the object of 

 her attention, and at that time it was doubtful to me 

 whether she was washing the cup with her fingers or 

 rinsing her fingers in the cup. At any rate, it shows 

 a laudable desire to have my table furniture in good 

 order, and I do not murmur ; but there is a cake of 

 soap and a towel that I keep concealed from her sharp 

 eyes, that, when not observed, I bring into frequent use 

 on those same objects of her devotion. One day I was 

 incautious enough to peer into the culinary department 

 — a palm-thatched structure, black and grimy with 

 smoke which escaped from the tire on the ground, as 

 best it could, through the roof. Only once ! I did not 

 wish again to view those ancient pots and kettles, the 

 refuse of preceding feasts, nor to fight my way through 

 the drove of hogs that trooped about the open door. 



Occasionally the thought obtrudes itself, "They do 

 not have things like this in the States." This often 

 makes me sad, but I raise my eyes, perhaps, and look 

 out over the green slope, down upon the valley burst- 

 ing with palms, and beyond the hills to the peaceful 

 sea smiling in sunshine ; and I exult in the thought 

 that these enjoyments far outweigh the little annoy- 

 ances that I have described. And I take down the 

 thermometer and find that it records, if morning, six- 

 ty-eight to seventy degrees ; if noon, seventy-six de- 

 grees ; if evening, seventy degrees. And I again 



