302 CONFESSIONS OF A BEACHCOMBER 



leaves ; Tom might massage, and the others do their best, 

 which was pitiably poor, and their uttermost, which was ever 

 so mean and little, the Conquering Worm would have its 

 victim. And so with a few long-drawn, gulping sighs, each 

 at a longer interval than the last, until the iinal one, " Little 

 Jinny" passed away as the sun touched the dark blue 

 barrier of mountains across the channel to the west. 



Then Nelly's sighs changed into a wail, in which the 

 other members of the camp joined, a penetrating falsetto 

 cry which continued for two days, mingled with the strong 

 man's expression of woe, a low, weird yet not inharmonious 

 hum. For two days they chanted the virtues of the dead, 

 told of her likes and dislikes, and of their grief, crouching 

 beside the blanket-covered form. Then they buried her in 

 the smoky hut in which she lived, digging a shallow grave in 

 the black sand, and there she rests with them. 



Tom has put on the mourning of his tribe, and will not 

 for several years eat of a certain fish associated with " Little 

 Jinny's " original name. Nor can he bear to be reminded 

 of her. The day after she was buried he spent the hours 

 between daylight and sunset wandering about wherever 

 " Little Jinny " had been wont, obliterating the tracks 

 made by her feet. With the keenest of sight, which is one 

 of the superior qualifications of the race, he discerned the 

 tracks on the sandy, forest-clad flat, and rubbed them out 

 with his foot. 



Just as love-lorn Orlando ran about the forest of Arden 

 carving on 



" Every tree 

 The fair, the chaste, the unexpressive she," 



so this rough, rude savage, spent the whole day smothering 

 the marks that would "sad remembrance bring" of the 

 poor creature for whom he had that kind of feeling that in 

 the savage stands for love. Nature would have performed 

 the office as effectually, and perhaps more tenderly, but 

 Tom's hasty grief drove him remorselessly, until no outward 

 and visible sign of the dead girl remained to challenge it. 

 When I ponder upon Nelly's " Raroo " leaves and Tom's 



