risoners of war; that he had learned Castalian as a boy from a
missionary in the mountains when the land was at peace; and that a
palaver would be held on the following day, to which the heads of the
neighboring villages would be invited, to determine what to do with
them. He showed special interest in Sam's red hair and mustache, and
smoothed them and pulled them, asking him if they had been dyed. When
he was informed that they were not, he was filled with admiration and
called up his favorites to examine this wonder of nature. Sam had
noticed that from the moment of his arrival he had been the object of
admiration of the women, and this fact was now accounted for.

The three prisoners had no reason to complain of their treatment during
the day. A guard was set upon them, but the ropes by which they were
tied were loosened, and they were allowed from time to time to walk
about. Most of the morning they passed in much-needed sleep. In the
afternoon Carlos visited them again with some of his men, and set to
work to satisfy his curiosity as to their country, translating their
answers to his friends. His Castalian was very bad, but so was that of
his captives; yet they succeeded in making themselves understood
without difficulty.

"Do you have houses as high as those?" he asked, pointing to the human
nests in the trees.

"Yes, indeed," said Cleary. "Near my home there is a house nearly a
quarter of a mile long and twice as high as that tree, and nine hundred
people live in it."

There were murmurs of astonishment as this information was translated.

"What is that great house for?" asked the chief.

"It's a lunatic asylum."

"What is that?"

"A house for lunatics to live in."

"But what is a lunatic?"

Cleary tried in vain to explain what a lunatic was. The Moritos had
never seen one.

"We have plenty of such houses at home," said Sam, "and we have had to
double their size in ten years to hold the lunatics; they are splendid
buildings. There was one not very far from the college where my friend
and I were educated. But some of our prisons are even larger than our
lunatic asylums."

"What is a prison," asked Carlos.

"Oh," said Sam, "don't you understand that either? It's a house in
which we lock up criminals--I mean men who kill us or rob us."

"Oh, I see," replied Carlos. "You mean your enemies whom you take
prisoner in battle."

"No, I don't. I mean our own fel