Another source of excitement at Wamira was a kind of madness which attacked a man now and again, a state of exaltation somewhat resembling the Malay “amok.” At first the victim only sat in the house suffering from “heat in the heart.” Then, after muttering unintelligibly, he would seize a handful of spears, rush out of the house, and career wildly through the villages, flinging the spears to right and left and shouting as he ran. Women would come shrieking to my house and take refuge inside the fence, hoping to be safe with the “foreigner.” Once one of these half-crazed men, exhausted after an attack, came up the path and demanded water. I gave him some particularly nauseous medicine, which he drank greedily, afterwards asking for more. On another occasion one of them, who had already aimed a spear at a villager, came on to the school, where the pupil teacher and I had our flock of fifty or sixty children. Seeing him approaching, however, we hastily closed and barricaded the doors, standing the siege until the old chief influenced our would-be assailant to withdraw. When my predecessor returned to her work a somewhat similar house to the one I have described was built for me at Wedau, where I remained for nearly two years. Ordinary village houses are built in very much the same style: they possess only one room, and the supporting piles are higher. The means of access to the interior is a sloping pole. These odd “staircases” have slight notches cut in them, which afford very slight purchase for a shod foot, though the nimble natives run up and down them easily enough. While I was living at Wamira news was brought of a murder in the hills. The girl who came to tell me said that her uncle had taken a journey there to obtain betel-nut. On the way he heard voices and promptly hid himself. From his place of concealment he saw two men attacking a third. One held the victim’s arms while the other cut his throat with a “gatigati” (long knife). As he did so the dying man cried, “Au dobu, au dobu!” (“Oh, my home!” or, literally, village). The hidden onlooker, being a Papuan, did not dream of interfering. His “skin trembled,” he said, and he hastily made his way back to safety. [Illustration: A TYPICAL PAPUAN HUT. _From a Photograph._] The village policeman went out to capture the miscreants, and was successful in bringing one to punishment. The crime, it was discovered, had been committed for a very simple reason. The dead man had been visiting a sick friend, who was the murderer’s brother. The invalid received every kindness from his friend, but eventually, in the course of nature, died. Therefore, argued the murderer, it was clear that the visitor had bewitched the sick man and caused his death, and his own life must necessarily be forfeited.