184 A JOURNEY UP THE RIVER CONGO. 
the noises of darkness and light. The silence does not 
last long, for the turtle-doves begin to coo in the adjoining 
woods, and a flock of grey parrots passes over my roof 
with loud whistles and gay chuckles of merriment. A 
shrill chorus of twittering weaver-birds and wax-bills 
arises from the grass fields, the cuckoos laugh from tree to 
tree, and up from the river comes the metallic ery of the 
spur-winged plovers. It is day, and a thin. streak of 
sunshine steals in through the gap between the curtain 
and the door-post, and cuts right across my mosquito 
curtain like a golden sword. I hesitate no longer; the 
sloth of night has passed, and I impatiently long for 
freshness and eager work. Lifting off the muslin which 
has secured me immunity all night from mosquito bites, 
I somewhat uneratefully fling it into a corner, and pulling 
aside the curtain which has veiled my doorless doorway, 
I step out into the fresh, even chilly morning air, and call 
loudly “Faraji we!” Faraji, who is just winding his 
turban round his head and putting on his slight raiment 
after the river bath which has left him ghstening, comes 
with docile haste to my room, and helps me to perform my 
hasty toilet. Then the curtain is looped up over the wide 
doorway, and the yellow sunlight fills the room, and shows 
up all sorts of queer creatures that have been my near 
companions in the night. Large blue-black velvety 
spiders are revealed on the clay wall, a pretty lizard darts 
under the bed, while all around on the matted floor, on 
the walls, on the boxes are seated the odious grylli, the 
crickets whose chirping has so wearied and annoyed me in 
the hours of wakefulness. However, I leave Faraji to — 
disperse and slay these creatures—always excepting the 
lizard, who is quite unobjectionable, and the spider, who 
eats so many flies—and I go to the breakfast-table in the 
next room—our salle a@ manger—to await the arrival of 
my host, Janssen. Suddenly he comes in, not from his 
bedroom, but from the outer piazza. There is rage in his 
face mingled with a fierce longing for vengeance. I 
divine the truth—Another leopard has been whilst we 
slumbered, and another milch goat is robbed from the 
