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 
