The Indian lived by himself all the year around in his little hut. All along the Amazon these cabins may be found, hidden in the woods, and in each one dwells only a single Indian. It is a lonely and dangerous life, the climate is unhealthful, the swampy lands of the river valley where the rubber trees grow are low and malarious, and the _syringuero_ has often to wade knee deep in mud, and work all day in wet clothing. The Indians are trustworthy workers and many of them earn a good living. Old Vicente had worked there so long that he would not have known how to act anywhere else, but he was glad to have company on his lonely rounds. So he smiled at Affonzo as the boy skipped along, gathering one gorgeous flower after another, as merry as the sunshine after the rain. "You'd better walk a little more slowly, and save your strength for the day's tramp," said his father. "You'll be tired by night." Vicente guided them down a well-worn path through the marsh land. On each side were splendid trees, the rubber tree growing as high as seventy feet. The trunk, smooth and round, was covered with light-coloured bark, the leaves, oval and about a foot long, hanging in clusters of three. The fruit grows in clusters also, and consists of a small black nut which the natives like very much. Affonzo picked one up and tasted it, but made a very wry face as it was quite bitter. Selecting a fine tree, Vicente made a deep cut in the bark with his hatchet. Below it, by means of some damp clay, he fastened an earthen cup, into which the cream-coloured sap flowed slowly. "By to-morrow the cup will be full," he said. "And I will come again. Now we will find another." The next tree was half a mile away and it had frequently been tapped before, for a row of incisions girdled it. Vicente emptied the cups attached to these into a large pail which he carried, and made a new gash higher up. "Do let me tap just one tree," said Affonzo, and Vicente allowed him to do so and helped him fasten on one of the cups to catch the sap. Affonzo was delighted, and tramped along gaily, although his short legs found it difficult to keep up with the long strides of his father and uncle. At last Vicente finished his rounds, and said, as he showed the Senhor his brimming pail, "This is all to-day. Does the Senhor wish to see it cooked?" "Yes, I want Affonzo to see it all, as I know he will be interested," said Senhor Dias, and they all followed the Indian to a little hut, such as the one in which they had slept the night before. "Let us eat first," said the Senhor. "Our walk has given us all appetites." So Vicente built a fire and roasted a _lagarto_[4] which he had killed on the way through the forest. The delicate white flesh tasted delicious to Affonzo, and so did the bananas and oranges and black coffee, which Vicente made thick and strong as it is liked in Brazil. [Illustration: "THIS HE KEPT UP UNTIL THE PADDLE HAD A THICK COATING OF RUBBER."]