8 TlMEHRI. 
before morning, therefore all the syrup that is now - sent 
up' must be boiled sweet, as it will have to be kept till 
Monday morning. The manager looks in at about nine, 
and says that all the syrup must be boiled to a density 
of at least 18 Be.; he gives a general look round, bids 
* good night* which sounds bitter irony, and goes to 
his bed. 
It is sometime before the flooded wall begins to get 
sweet or any syrup to be sent up. Then there is a cry 
from the stoke-hole, and the overseer goes to see what is 
the matter and finds that there is not an atom of megass. 
This means a walk through the pouring rain to the logie, 
and a grand routing up of the megass carriers, who, poor 
things, have been bard at work for about eighteen hours 
already. The driver wakes up from a half nap, and 
pretends to flog them all round with a piece of long 
megass. She wonders why they have been so long at their 
' dinner', and says that they are 'real table people', the 
1 table' consisting of a saucepan, or calabash, and a spoon. 
Presently the head boiler informs you that the liquor is 
only simmering, as the fuel is so damp, and he says that 
if you ( don't look sharp' you will have the liquor as red 
as blood. This means another trip to the logie, and there 
is a grand search to see if there is any dry fuel to be 
scraped from the outside of any of the pens. The pro- 
cession of girls is seen in the dim light, they walk as close 
as they can to the building of the logie to avoid the mud, 
and the water from the eaves pours into their baskets ; the 
distance is very considerable, and the megass, damp when 
it started, becomes positively wet before it reaches its 
destination. Something must be done. The head boiler 
suggests ' patent fuel.' Alas! there is none. A search 
