96 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 
dom treated himself to; and when I reflected to what 
extent my host had deprived himself, and upon the 
recent, the very recent, demise of the chicken, I could 
scarcely eat. My friends refused to sit at table with 
me, but attended upon my wants, bringing me fresh 
cocoanut-water, and mangos and guavas for dessert. 
To be sure, there was néither fork nor table-knife ; but 
one living in the woods is never without his pocket- 
knife, and a fork can be quickly whittled from a palm- 
rib. After the repast I retired to the shade of the 
mango; the father gathered about him his materials 
for making baskets, and the daughter wove for me 
a curious cone of basket-work, used by the children 
in their games, which, being slipped over the finger, 
cannot be removed so long as it is tightly drawn. 
The sun at noon is very powerful in that climate, 
and one quickly feels its somnolent influences. The 
people are up early, and work a little in the morning, 
but in the heat of the day little is done. No traveler 
passes; unless some one on a long journey ; and no one 
works except the basket-maker, who can do so under 
the broad-spreading shade of a mango or tamarind. 
Even he, as noon draws nigh and breakfast is dis- 
posed of, stretches himself upon a board and dozes 
for an hour or two. Everything is hushed in uni- 
versal calm, and even the insects and birds feel the 
influence of the solar rays and are silent, drowsy, 
and indulging in mid-day siestas. Dolce far niente 
is the life these people lead; the sweet-do-nothing 
more than is absolutely necessary. 
Hospitality such as I have mentioned is not ex- 
ceptional. If an Indian takes a liking to you, hence- 
forward you are his compére; all he has is yours — 
