Let me try and describe a visit to some Dyak house, which no missionary has visited before, and where there is hope of breaking new ground. After travelling by boat or on foot I come to the house, and at the foot of the ladder leading up to it, one of my Dyak companions shouts out, “_Jadi rumah?_” (“Is the house tabooed?”—that is to say: “May we walk up?”) The usual answer is “_Jadi_,” which implies that there is no reason against our entering the house. We climb up the ladder leading to the common hall and walk to the middle of the house, where the headman and the more important inhabitants have their rooms. Some inmate spreads out mats for us, and we are asked to sit down. If I arrive at the house early in the day, most of the men will probably be out, and only women and children at home. These crowd round, standing at a respectful distance, and the wife or daughter of the headman asks us what we have come for, and invites us to stay in the house. She also clears away their own cooking from the fireplace, and my servant is asked to do whatever cooking is needed for the _Tuan_ in their room. The cooking is generally a simple matter. The dinner generally consists of one course. My servant buys from the Dyaks a fowl—it would be libel to call it a “chicken”!—and cooks it, or else he falls back on tinned food, of which I always had a supply. During all the years I worked in Borneo I always had a Dyak servant, and I was fortunate in having for many years an excellent native named Ah Choy. He was born at Banting, and attended the Mission School there, and then went on to the school at Kuching. I joined the Mission Staff soon after he left school, and he worked for me as my general factotum—cook, housekeeper, boatman, personal attendant, etc.—for ten years or more. He was, what is unusual among the Dyaks, a good cook, and, in addition to this, was an excellent servant in many ways. He understood about boats, and I found his advice in all matters connected with travelling very trustworthy. He had a good idea of carpentering, and was able himself to fit up many little conveniences in my boat. Besides all this he was able to help me in my missionary work, as he was a Christian and a communicant himself. I think that if a Missionary visits native houses to teach the Dyaks, and has as his attendant a “heathen Chinee” or a “scoffing Mohammedan,” it must be a hindrance to his work. Ah Choy left me to work for his mother, who was a widow, but even after he had left my service he often accompanied me on my missionary travels as one of the boatmen, and I was always very glad to have him with me. He died, while quite a young man, during an epidemic of cholera. When my dinner is ready my servant tells me, and I go into the room to eat it. A mat is spread for me, and I sit cross-legged upon it. A few of the women of the house sometimes stay in the room while I have my meal, but never a crowd, and one is able to have one’s food in comfort.