She joyfully wrapped the cloth round her body, gave the ends a skilful little twist under her arm, and drew herself up proudly for me to see; and certainly, now that she was clothed, she appeared much more respectable if rather less handsome. On the following morning we turned out early, and gathering up the remainder of the provisions that had been given to me, sallied forth from the village amidst the benedictions of the headman and his people. Isaaku had added to his present a cotton cap such as the Wongáras wear, so that I was completely equipped in a humble way, while, as to Aminé, she tripped along in her new _túrkedi_, as fine as a sweep’s apprentice on the first of May. As we walked, Isaaku chatted pleasantly about his experiences, and the journey on which he was now engaged, and incidentally I learned a great deal about the town of Bori, whither he was bound, and other cities of the interior. “As soon as I reach Bori,” he observed, “I shall get a _mai-tákalmi_ (sandal maker) to sew up the clay tablet that thou gavest me, in a leather case, that it may not be broken.” “If I had a piece of paper,” I said, “I would write thee some saying from the holy book on it, so there should be no fear of thy _laiya_ getting broken.” “Perhaps we shall find some tree that shall yield us paper to write on,” replied Isaaku; “then if thou wilt write some holy words on it, I shall be most thankful.” To this I made no reply, having no idea what my host meant, and not wishing to display my ignorance; but while we were taking our midday rest in a belt of forest that fringed a small stream, the boy Ali came running to his father with the news that he had found a tree that would serve our purpose. “It is the kind of tree that the Ashanti people call _honton_,” said he, “such as we saw the heathen in Sehui use to make garments of.” Isaaku and I followed the lad, who proudly conducted us to this treasure, a not very large tree, of a kind that I recognised as having seen in the forest. “This will serve us well,” said Isaaku, and drawing his knife he made four deep incisions in the bark, marking off a space about three feet square. “Thou must first bruise it, father, or it will not come off,” said Ali, and accordingly he fell to hammering the incisions with a heavy branch. “Gently, gently, my son!” exclaimed Isaaku. “Beat not too hard, or thou wilt spoil it for writing upon. We want it for paper, not for cloth.” He tapped the marked space with the handle of his knife until the outer bark was loosened, when he peeled it off in strips. Then, sticking the point of the knife into the incision, he prised up a corner of the inner bark, and with the aid of his finger-nails stripped off a square sheet of what looked like coarse, rather flimsy, canvas. “See, my son,” he said, showing it to Ali, “if thou wantest it for writing thou must keep it smooth, but if it is for cloth, then must the pulp be bruised out of the meshes.”