es as quickly as they have been put together.

It is for this that all my endeavours have been in vain to find amongst
them some song transmitted from father to son which by referring to an
event more or less remote might serve as a clue to the legends or
history of this mysterious people. But nothing of the kind exists and
not even in talking can they narrate anything farther, back than three
or four generations. They could not tell you if the sun and the forest
were in existence before their great-grandfather lived. One cannot
wonder much at this, though, when it is known that these poor
inhabitants of the wildest parts of the jungle can scarcely reckon
beyond three and have no means of counting time.

With them the first three numbers are not followed by a series of others
which always increase by one but from _neer_ (three) it is rare that
they pass to _neer nahno_ (three one) jumping instead to _neer neer_
(three three), and by this addition they express number six. They use
the words _neer neer nahno_ for seven and then jump again to _neer neer
neer_ which means nine.

When a birth, a death or any other event takes place which requires the
exact period of seven days for the accomplishment of certain ceremonies
according to their habit, the Sakai takes a strip of reed or rattan
(splitting it into parts to make it flexible) with which he ties two
groups of three knots each and a single one apart. Every day he undoes
one of these knots and so knows when the time prescribed is finished.

If you ask him whether it would not be better for him to learn to count
at least as far as seven, a number that for one thing or another is
frequently necessary in his life, he answers you invariably:

"We know nothing. Our fathers did so and we too will do the same without
being too fantastical".

Thus we see that the saying: "My father did so", may be an inveterate
enemy of arithmetic whilst it establishes a close relationship between
those who in civilized society put it into practice and the savages
dwelling on the heights of Perak.

The Sakai renounces all attempts at counting more than nine, and his
total abstention from commercial persuits permits him to spare his brain
this fatigue.

[Illustration: Two more solid huts.

_p._ 166.]

Returning from a day's shooting, if they have had luck, my good friends
do not trouble themselves much over counting the heads of game they have
brought home. They will perhaps begin by