128 TROPIC DAYS 



canoe became a study in brown, braided with gold, 

 representative of something more than a means towards 

 earning a diet of fish, and inevitable grit. It was neat 

 and of harmonious colouring; innocent of the least 

 touch of finery; not a scratch expended on ornament. 

 All its lines, save those of the stretchers and stays 

 which stood for rigidity, were fluent. It was not made 

 to model or measurement, but developed under the 

 maker's hard hands and tough fingers a tribute to 

 his artistry and skill. On the water it was as blithe as a 

 bubble. 



Often had the wish to possess one of Cassowary's 

 masterpieces arisen. He scorned barter by abandoning 

 his property whenever the interferer appeared. When 

 the camp was deserted while the boat was being brought 

 to anchor there was a strong temptation to take the 

 canoe, leaving some adequate reward. The self-denial 

 is almost regretted, for the old man with the thin white 

 tuft on his chin, his shyness, his hatred of strangers, 

 and delusions of his decrepitude, are characteristic 

 of an age soon to be of the irrecoverable past. A canoe 

 from such accomplished hands would have represented 

 a complimentary record of a race deficient in the ele- 

 ments of history. 



Several years have elapsed since Cassowary made his 

 last canoe. He acknowledged that his fingers had 

 lost their cunning, but the fates ordained that his ideas 

 should blossom as his manipulatory skill withered 

 Gradually he became feeble in mind and body, and 

 was wont to spend his time crouched in a rough shelter 

 dreaming prodigious dreams. He would wake not only 

 his fellows, but a pitying neighbour of other complexion, 

 with enthusiastic shouts announcing that a " big fella 

 steamer" was whistling out at sea ; that it was his steamer ; 

 that it carried two bags of flour, and tea and sugar and 



