The house where the little stranger had arrived was very small; a fire was burning inside, filling it with strong wood smoke; and as if that were not sufficient discomfort for such a time, the house was literally crammed with women, all shouting vociferously, showing in this well-meaning but mistaken manner their sympathy in the mother’s joy. The people rise at daybreak, and the fire, which has been kept smouldering all night, is replenished, or, if it has gone out, fire is obtained from another household. The wife clears up the ashes from the hearth, and sweeps out the chips and husks that remain from last night’s supper. The husband, if a tidy man, sweeps his compound. Negro toilet operations then ensue. A calabash of water is taken behind the house, and filling his mouth with water Ndualu (Dom Alvaro) allows a thin stream to flow over his hands as he carefully washes them, also his face; then cleaning his teeth, he goes to sit in front of his house to comb his hair. The ladies have been bestirring themselves, and a snack of food is ready--a few roast ground-nuts, or a piece of prepared cassava. The infants are placed in the care of older babies, and the women and girls of the town wend their way to the village spring, where they bathe and gossip until all the calabashes being full they return with the day’s supply of water. One calabash is for the baby, who is brought outside, and carefully washed, squalling lustily as the cold douche is poured over him. If the mother is careful, his feet are examined for jiggers. This sand flea, brought from Brazils some twenty years ago, is a great pest. Burrowing into the feet often in the most tender parts, the insect swells until its eggs are mature, when the little cyst bursts, and they are set free. If they are not extracted the jiggers set up an inflammation, which may even terminate in mortification. It is very common to see one or two toes absent from this cause. The preliminaries of the day being over, the women start for the farms. Taking with them in the great conical basket a hoe, a little food, and a small calabash of water, the baby is carried on the hip, or more often made to straddle its mother’s back, and tied on with a cloth dexterously fastened in front. So the poor child travels often through the hot sun, bound tightly to its mother’s reeking body, its little head but inadequately protected by its incipient wool. No wonder that an African baby who has survived the hardships of babyhood grows up to be strong, and able to bear great strain and fatigue. The weaklings are early weeded out, and often poor mothers, wringing their hands, wail and deplore the loss of the little darling, whose death is due to their own lack of care, rather than to the supposed witchcraft and devilish malice of some one in the town.