THE LURE OF KARTABO 23 



monkeys, of great butterflies and strange frogs 

 and flowers. The seeping wind had led my mind 

 on and on from memory and distant sorrows to 

 thoughts of the joy of labor and life. 



At half-past five a kiskadee shouted at the 

 top of his lungs from the bamboos, but he prob- 

 ably had a nightmare, for he went to sleep and 

 did not wake again for half-an-hour. The final 

 swish of a bat's wing came to my ear, and the 

 light of a fog-dimmed day slowly tempered the 

 darkness among the dusty beams and rafters. 

 From high overhead a sprawling tarantula tossed 

 aside the shriveled remains of his night's banquet, 

 the emerald cuirass and empty mahogany helmet 

 of a long-horned beetle, which eddied downward 

 and landed upon my sheet. 



Immediately around the bungalow the bam- 

 boos held absolute sway, and while forming a 

 very tangible link between the roof and the out- 

 liers of the jungle, yet no plant could obtain 

 foothold beneath their shade. They withheld 

 light, and the mat of myriads of slender leaves 

 killed off every sprouting thing. This was of 

 the utmost value to us, providing shade, clear 

 passage to every breeze, and an absolute dearth 

 of flies and mosquitoes. We found that the 



