ddled along the stream, dipping
his slim hands into the current, arresting objects that floated by. He
had made his _banco_ (canoe) himself; had even felled the palma brava
alone, and had spent days burning and chopping the center away, until
at last he was the proud possessor of one of the swiftest canoes on
the river. As on ice-boats, long outriggers of slender poles extended
across the banco, and the ends were joined by other bamboo poles, so
that the canoe looked like a giant dragon-fly as it skimmed lightly
over the water.

Piang stopped at a lily-pad to gather some of the inviting blossoms,
but regretted it instantly, as a swarm of mosquitos rose and enveloped
him. He thought to escape their vicious attacks by paddling faster,
but it was no use; they had come to stay. Trailing after him a long
uneven stream, they seemed to take turns in tormenting him, and as the
leaders became satiated, they fell back, allowing the rear rankers to
buzz forward and renew the attack. Piang longed for a certain kind
of moss that grows at the roots of trees, but his keen eyes could
not discover any.

It was almost all he could do, to paddle his banco and fight the pests;
his sarong was wrapped tightly around him, but it was no protection
against the savage mosquitos, and he was about to drop in the water
despite the crocodiles, when he spied some of the moss. With a cry
of relief, he headed toward the bank and managed to pull some into
the boat. Taking from his bundle a queerly shaped, wooden object,
he spun it like a top, rapidly, backward and forward in a pan until
smoke appeared at the point of the rod. Powdering some bark, he threw
it into the pan, and when it began to blaze, he added some of the
damp moss. Gradually a thick, pungent smoke arose. It curled upward,
enveloping him and almost choking him with its overwhelming aroma,
but it dispelled the mosquitos immediately, and Piang continued his
journey unmolested.

He was very happy that morning, for was he not free, honored by his
tribe, and engaged in the dearest of pastimes, adventure? The poor
little girls have no choice in their occupations, for as soon as they
are large enough, their tasks are allotted to them; they must sit all
day and weave, or wear out their little backs pounding rice in the big
wooden bowls. But the man child is free. The jungle is his task. He
must learn to trap game, to find where the fruits abound, and to avoid
the many dangers that wait for hi