This charming welcome was their way of showing pleasure at our arrival, and when they had taken their places, squatting on the floor, their feet tucked underneath them, and the few moments of silence required on such important occasions had passed, we began our talk, and I asked them about their families and all the news of their village. They told me that not many weeks before, sickness had attacked some members of their community, and that their long house, surrounded by an orchard of bananas, durians, jack fruit, etc., was situated a few yards from the banks of the river. In order to appease the anger of the god of sickness, they had erected a little hut on the river-bank. I felt curious to see this hut, and asked them whether I might pay it a visit. They were pleased with the idea, and these forty women suggested paddling me thither in one of their boats. Accordingly, that afternoon, Bertram and I were conveyed a few reaches up the Batang Lupar by this picturesque crew. It did not take us long to reach the spot, where we saw an open shed, propped on bamboo poles, roofed in with palm leaves. Large plates, some chipped and broken, hung from the roof, and on a platform below were placed cooked rice, pieces of salt fish, and other edibles, together with a gourd of water, to tempt the spirit of the plague to eat his meals there, instead of going further inland to procure his food off human flesh. This custom is, I believe, a universal one amongst some of the tribes in Sarawak. The women assured me that the sickness was stayed by these methods, but the hut had been left there, in case the unwelcome visitor should return at any time for more victims. We were paddled back to the bungalow in the same way as we had come, and the women expressed themselves delighted with the time we had spent together.