16 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



and in the morning we would remember and won- 

 der who our fellow tenants could be. Some 

 nights the bungalow seemed as full of life as 

 the tiny French homes labeled, "Hommes 40: 

 Chevauoc 8," when the hastily estimated billeting 

 possibilities were actually achieved, and one won- 

 dered whether it were not better to be the cheval 

 premier^ than the homme quarantieme. 



For years the bungalow had stood in sun and 

 rain unoccupied, with a watchman and his wife, 

 named Hope, who lived close by. The aptness 

 of his name was that of the little Barbadian mule- 

 tram which creeps through the coral-white streets, 

 striving forever to divorce motion from progress 

 and bearing the name Alert. Hope had done 

 his duty and watched the bungalow. It was un- 

 doubtedly still there and nothing had been taken 

 from it ; but he had received no orders as to accre- 

 tions, and so, to our infinite joy and entertain- 

 ment, we found that in many ways it was not 

 only near jungle, it was jungle. I have com- 

 pared it with a natural cave. It was also like a 

 fallen jungle-log, and we some of the small folk 

 who shared its dark recesses with hosts of others. 

 Through the air, on wings of skin or feathers 



