214 COLLECTOR'S RAMBLES 



many of them, to the sun, in praise of the fair day they 

 had enjoyed, and their voices were clear and sweet. 



The old chief, Lohier Macola, was, perhaps, the most 

 interesting man in the village. He was fifty years old, 

 I should judge, stout and broad-shouldered; and his 

 body was so well covered with scars from the numer- 

 ous battles in which he had taken part that, by placing 

 my hand on him in the darkest night, I was sure of his 

 identity. His face was dark, but he had an intelligent 

 look; and he was a natural gentleman, modest and 

 unassuming. 



There were few things he enjoyed more than to 

 question us about the white men and their country ; 

 and, while we were busy skinning birds, he would sit 

 on the ground in front of us, asking questions by the 

 hour. He would follow a subject into the details, and 

 never leave it until it was exhausted of all interest. A 

 single illustration will give a good idea of his method. 



Question. What is the name of the food you eat, 

 made into a large cake, out of a fine white powder ? 



Answer. Bread. 



Question. What is the name of the powder ? 



Answer. Flour. 



Question. Does it come from America? 



Answer. From many parts of the world. Wherever 

 white men live, they have flour. 



Question. Does it grow, or do they dig it out of the 

 ground? 



