140 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
tions, it does not also keep one’s fellow-men at 
bay. It has a fresh, lemony scent, not 
unpleasant; and a few drops put on the face 
and hands keep one free from the torment of 
biting and stinging insects. But it was still 
too early in the day for these pests, and the 
mosquito curtain could be rolled up. We put 
on dressing gowns and boudoir caps, ready for 
early coffee, whilst the fishers went off to wash 
and dress, shouting to Jerman to bring the 
coffee. 
We had evolved a set of rules for the peaceful 
ordering of our small community, and the first 
of them was that each person must fold up his 
or her bedding neatly, on getting up. So the 
men’s c bedroom ’ was quite tidy by the time the 
coffee came. My sister and I sat up in bed for 
our early breakfast, since there was nowhere 
else to sit. And we all talked hard, discussing 
the catch of the previous day and the chances of 
to-day, whilst we drank coffee sweetened with 
tinned milk, and ate slices of bread and jam. 
As soon as we had finished, there was the 
usual important bustle of the fishermen’s 
departure : rods, tackle, and the gaff fetched, 
Pedroso’s dark face beaming from the canoe, 
and the whole crew collecting to watch : the 
Capitan with the benevolent expression of a 
fellow-sportsman; the young engineer laughing 
and rubbing his oily hands on a piece of cotton 
waste; Jerman, the cook, housemaid and 
