Our leader seems to be pursuing a haphazard course as we shadow him about the forest. Nevertheless, it is not many months ago since he wandered this same way, and only a few weeks have gone by since a little party of the tribe rebeat with their footsteps this path, which was originally designed and cleared by remote ancestors as a cut to a good fishing stream. But fresh vegetation springs up with mushroom growth in this land of tropical luxuriance, and to-day the trail has been wellnigh hidden from view by a new tangle of undergrowth. There is no fear, however, of our leader losing himself in the maze; he has the tribal instinct for finding his way through the forest; the scenery, which seems to us so hopelessly bewildering, reveals to his trained eye many a signpost, and the thickest covering of shrubs, creepers, fallen leaves, broken branches, and storm-strewn trees cannot lead him astray from a path which he has roamed again and again ever since he was quite a little boy. Although he seems to be forcing a passage at random, he is following a trail which is as familiar to him as are the highways and byways of our native town to us, and sooner or later, according as the fancy takes him to go the long way round, or turn aside into a short cut, he will get back to the camp. Whatever may have been his purpose when he started out on his wanderings, clearly his chief desire now is to find trees of the same kind as that from which he obtained the strange material that he has made into a ball. Sometimes he comes upon two or three within a hundred yards or so of each other; sometimes he has to walk a good mile from his last find before he espies another of the forest giants for which he is seeking. After a few hours’ diligent search, he walks ahead without stopping to test the sap of any more trees, and at length we realize that during the last hour he has been making straight for the camp. The moment he arrives here he shows his quaint toy to his fellows. The tribe are all very interested in it, very delighted with it, and it is tossed from hand to hand. The chief questions him, and there follows a conclave, at which it is decided that a party shall set forth on the morrow to collect more of the newly discovered material. At dawn we leave the camp clearing, and once more plunge into the thick of the bush. With what a novel procession we join company and once more strike the trail! Evidently it is not the custom to wear clothes in this part of the world, but personal ornaments seem to be in high favour. Nearly everyone is bedecked with some “pretty” knick-knack, such as a necklet of tiger’s teeth, a jingling girdle of seeds, or a plaited-fibre armlet; and the majority seem to make “pincushions” of their chin and lips--the fishbones you see sticking out therefrom are pegs on which they hang decorations of feathers and seeds when they are merrymaking.