“Now, boys,” said I, when we had removed the pith from the other half of the trunk, “off with your coats and turn up your shirt-sleeves; I am going to teach you to knead.”
They were all delighted, and even little Franz begged to be allowed to help. Ernest brought a couple of pitchers of water, and throwing it in amongst the pith, we set to work right heartily. As the dough was formed and properly kneaded, I handed it to the mother who spread it out on a cloth in the sun to dry. This new occupation kept us busy until the evening, and when it was at length completed we loaded the cart with the sago, a store of cocoanuts and our other possessions, that we might be ready to start early on the following morning. As the sun rose above the horizon, we packed up our tent and set forth, a goodly caravan. I thought it unfair to the cow to make her drag such a load as we now had alone, and determined if possible to make the young buffalo take the place of our lost donkey; after some persuasion he consented, and soon put his strength to the work and brought the cart along famously. As we had the trough slung under the cart we had to choose the clearest possible route, avoiding anything like a thicket; we, therefore, could not pass directly by the candleberry and caoutchouc trees, and I sent Ernest and Jack aside to visit the store we had made on our outward journey.
They had not long been gone when I was alarmed by a most terrible noise accompanied by the furious barking of the dog and shouts from Jack and Ernest. Thinking that the boys had been attacked by some wild beast, I ran to their assistance. A most ludicrous scene awaited me when I reached the spot. They were dancing and shouting round and round a grassy glade, and I as nearly as possible followed their example, for in the centre, surrounded by a promising litter, lay our old sow, whose squeals, previously so alarming, were now subsiding into comfortable grunts of recognition. I did not join my boys in their triumphal dance, but
