THE POMEROON TRAIL 79 



return over the four-hour course, although this 

 cosmic disturbance aroused comment from 

 neither the man nor his wife. I checked off an- 

 other helpless being salvaged from the stream 

 of ignorance. 



From serio-comic tragedy the village street led 

 us to pure comedy. At the roadside we discov- 

 ered a tiny white flag, and beneath it a bit of 

 worn and grimy cloth stretched between a frame 

 of wood. This was a poster announcing the 

 impending performance of one "Profesor Ra- 

 bintrapore," who, the painfully inked-in printing 

 went on to relate, " craled from ankoffs " and 

 " esskaped from cofens," and, besides, dealt 

 with " spirits INvisibal." The professor's sys- 

 tem of spelling would have warmed the heart of 

 our modern schoolteachers, but his seances did 

 not seem to be tempting many shekels from the 

 pockets of coolie spiritualists. 



After tea at the Colony House, I leaned 

 out of my window and watched the moonlight 

 gather power and slowly usurp the place of 

 the sun. Then, like the succession of light, 

 there followed sound: the last sleepy twitter 

 came from the martin's nest under the eaves, 

 and was sustained and deepened until it changed 



