On we go, gliding past the crocodiles that lie basking in the sun, and that lazily open one eye at us or a huge mouth, the sight making us shudder, but with a sense of devout thankfulness that we are at a respectable distance! No sound disturbs the quiet, except the ripple of the water, and the screams of gaily-coloured parrots. Now and again we hear a sound like human voices, and straining our ears to listen we find to our amusement that it comes from monkeys chattering and quarrelling among themselves. At length we branch off into one of the many tributaries of the great river, the Yavari for choice, which brings us to the borders of Peru. Pitching our tent on the river-bank, we settle down for a quiet evening. In front of us is the Yavari River, filled with many wonderful varieties of fish. Stretching away behind us is the forest, full of strange and wonderful things. We are in the home of the wild Indians, of whom there are many, many tribes. They live by fishing in the river, and hunting in the forest. There are said to be one hundred different kinds of fish, the largest of which is the King Herring, weighing often as much as three hundred-weight. When one gets weary of fish diet, stewed monkey makes a pleasant variety, and cooked alligator a nice change! Darkness has now fallen, and the stars are out. No sound now but the humming of the mosquitoes, which are the bane of the traveller’s life in South America. Here in this great land even the insects are on a large scale. Spiders, jiggers, carrapatoes, ticks, and other insects threaten to disturb our reverie. So if we would escape such unwelcome attentions from blood-thirsty mosquitoes, we must take shelter under a net. But not yet; the night is cooler than the day, and the fire-flies are out, like vivid electric sparks, darting about us as we lie and watch and dream of Paradise. By and by we fall asleep. Suddenly we sit up, rubbing our eyes. What was that? Listening, for we are wide awake now, we hear a cry as of someone in distress. The dawn has broken as suddenly as the darkness fell last night. It always does so in the Tropics, and the crying and wailing gradually die away. Presently we hear a splash, something small and dark has been thrown into the river, and drifts slowly in our direction. Straining our eyes to see what it is, we find to our horror that it is a dear little brown baby, but quite dead, and following in its wake is a huge crocodile. Alas! Alas! Who is it that has been so inhuman to a little child? We will find out. Like scouts through the trees we stealthily creep along, hardly daring to breathe, and never once speaking above a whisper. Hark! What is that? It is the tramp of many feet, and away in the distance, across an open track, we see a company of naked Indians in charge of men clad in European clothing.