had
been born in the village that day."

"What had the birth of a kid got to do with it?"

"It's like this, don't you know. Every tribe is divided into Coast
natives and Bush natives. One set lives by the sea, and is comparatively
what you might call civilized. The other set, their cousins, live in the
Bush, and are a good deal more savage. Now, when anything out of the
way, especially anything of a fortunate kind, happens in one division of
the tribe, the other division pops down on them, loots everything it can
lay hands on, maltreats the women, breaks what's too heavy to carry, and
generally plays the very mischief. The birth of a child is _always_
celebrated in that way."

"And don't the others resist?"

"Resist! No! It would be the height of rudeness. Do _you_ resist when
people leave cards at your house, 'with kind inquiries'? It's just like
that; a way they have of showing a friendly interest."

"But what can be the origin of such an extraordinary custom?"

"_I_ don't know. Guess it has a kind of civilizing effect, as you'll
see. Resources of civilization get handed on to the Bush tribes, but
that can't be what it was started for. However, recently the tribes have
begun to run cunning, and they hide themselves and all their goods when
they have reason to expect a friendly visit. This was what they had done
the day we landed. But, while we were jawing with the interpreter, we
heard a yell to make your hair stand on end. The Bush tribe came down on
the village all in their war paint,--white clay; an arrangement, as you
say, in black and white. Down they came, rushed into every hut, rushed
out again, found nothing, and an awful rage they were in. They said this
kind of behaviour was most ungentlemanly; why, where was decent feeling?
where was neighbourliness? While they were howling, they spotted the
hog, and made for him in a minute; here was luncheon, anyhow,--pork
chops. So they soon had a fire, set a light to one of the houses in
fact, and heaped up stones; that's how they cook. They cut you up in
bits, wrap them in leaves--"

"En papillotte?"

"Just that, and broil you on the hot stones. They cook everything that
way."

"Are they cannibals?"

"Oh yes, in war-time. Or criminals they'll eat. I've often heard the
queer yell a native will give, quite a peculiar cry, when he is carrying
a present of cold prisoner of war from one chief to another. He cries
out like that, to show w