THROUGH THE COASTAL WILDERNESS. 231 



Gillett's eyes filled with tears and he said, " Is your name 

 Pedro ? I lost a lovely Pedro. He died of fever last Easter. 

 I did not know I could miss him so much. He used to talk 

 to me. He was not like other Indian boys. He loved to 

 talk." Then turning to us he added simply, " It is a lonely 

 life sometimes, you know." 



We were told that white women had never before passed 

 through that part of British Guiana. So unexpectedly did 

 we arrive at midnight, and so early did we depart next morn- 

 ing that perhaps our visit seems as unreal to the good Father 

 as it sometimes does to us like a very vivid dream which we 

 can never forget. He loaded us with gifts of cocoanuts and 

 fruit and in the fresh coolness of early morning we again set 

 forth on our journey. 



Just as we were paddling away, the Father ordered all his 

 small boys into the water for their regular morning swim. 

 Head first they went, splashing about as gayly as a school 

 of strange copper-colored fish. 



\Ye found as we went on that the Marooka changed 

 rapidly in character. It was no wider but the water lilies 

 and pampas grass disappeared and a softer, finer grass 

 covered the marsh, dotted with a host of purple- and yellow 

 (lowers rising from some aquatic plant. Isolated trees be- 

 came more numerous, and great \Yoodpeckers, resembling 

 our splendid Ivory-bills, looped here and there. Swallow- 

 tailed Kites'"'* dipped and soared and Kiskadees 101 shrieked 

 near the occasional huts of the Indians. 



At noon we lunched on erbswurst and jam at a Protest- 

 ant Mission Warramuri where a small colony of Red- 

 backed Cassiques were established. A school of about fifty 

 Indian children were studying and reciting at the top of 

 their lungs. 



We left in an hour and from here on the Marooka widened 

 and consequently lost somewhat in interest. The low eleva- 



