THE POMEROON TRAIL 69 



desirable region, and fulfil my requirements to 

 the extent that I might call it home for a sea- 

 son. So I accepted the invitation with a double 

 pleasure, for I already knew what excellent 

 company were friends Lawyer and Judge. As 

 a site for my researches the Pomeroon failed; 

 as an experience filled to the brim with interest 

 and enjoyment, my visit left nothing to be 

 desired. 



Besides, I met Ram. 



The big yellow kiskadees woke me at day- 

 break; my bedroom wren sang his heart out as 

 I splashed in my shower; and before breakfast 

 was over I heard the honking of my host's car. 

 We glided over the rich red streets in the cool 

 of early morning, past the thronged and already 

 odoriferous market, and on to the tiny river 

 ferry. 



This was on Monday, but Ram Narine was 

 to have yet another day of grace, by a twist 

 in the nexus of circumstance which envelops 

 all of us. The Lawyer's orderly had failed to 

 notify his cabman that the Georgetown steamer 

 left at six-fifty instead of seven. So when we 

 finally left the stelling, with a host of twitter- 

 ing martins about us, it was with sorrowful 



