T It A SSL 
115 
perienees of housekeeping at Geuteng. Having 
got up rather late one Sunday morning— an 
opportunity taken by one of my boys to go 
unknown to me to the market, which I had 
not then visited — I was discomfited by the 
terrific and unwonted odour of decomposition, 
* My birds have begun to stink ! ’ I exclaimed 
to myself. Hastily fetching down the box in 
which they were stored, I minutely examined 
and sniffed over every skin, giving myself in 
the process inflammation of the nostrils and 
eyes for a week after, from the amount of 
arsenical soap 1 inhaled ; but all of them 
seemed in perfect condition. In the neigh- 
bouring jungle, though I diligently searched 
half the morning, I could find no dead carcase, 
and nothing in the * kitchen-midden/ where 
somehow I seemed nearer the source; but at 
last in the kitchen itself I ran it to ground 
in a compact parcel done up in a banana 
leaf. 
“ ‘ What on the face of creation is this ? J I said 
to the cook, touching it gingerly. 
“ f Oh 1 master, that is trassi. 1 
“ 4 Trassi f Whatever is trassi f ’ 
11 ‘ Good for eating, master — in stew/ 
" 4 Have I been eating it ? ’ 
