A PREHISTORIC FAMILY in 



ing trail, attending to the all-important busi- 

 ness of filling his larder. I have watched him 

 as he set forth in the early morning, empty and 

 wrathful, and as he returned towards even- 

 ing still empty but laden with extraordinary 

 spoil of antediluvian meat, and whooping an 

 extempore triumphal chant. 



He would fling the meat down at the mouth 

 of his cave, and bellow for the attendance of 

 his by-no-means gentle mate. She, with the 

 fear of the stone-axe before her prehistoric 

 eyes, would at once conceal the prehistoric 

 baby in a corner, and with almost feverish 

 energy busy herself with rudimentary cooking. 

 A big fire would be already alight, the em- 

 bers containing stones in red-hot readiness for 

 dropping into a pot-shaped depression in the 

 cave's floor, half-full of water. Into this the 

 meat and the stones would be flung together, 

 but in the meantime a tit-bit had been lightly 

 and hurriedly broiled, cleaned of ashes, and 

 held out to the hunter on the end of a long 

 stick, in a propitiatory way. After this had 

 been snatched and swallowed to the accom- 

 paniment of savage growls, the cook seemed to 

 be more at her ease. All this time the baby 

 kept as still as a mouse. Prehistoric babies 

 did not cry when papa was about, and hungry. 



