When we were fairly astir, we found Doboi already about and the fire going. Then he would make tea while Harry or I baked cakes. The bread rises easily in New Guinea owing to the temperature, and we were never at a loss for yeast; for I had brought with me a small quantity of hops, and we kept our supply going by keeping back a piece of dough from every batch. This fragment, no bigger than a pocket matchbox, we placed in an ordinary pound tin, and by noon it had swelled right over the edges. We breakfasted on bread and dripping of pig, when we had been able to buy one from the natives, and sometimes we substituted coffee for tea. By seven o’clock breakfast was finished, the boys having had theirs under the verandah. It was then time for them to be off to their collecting, but they were difficult to move. They wanted to sit and smoke. Once off, they might do a day’s work, but on the other hand there was just the chance that they would waste their employer’s time in the forest, smoking and telling stories; or, if they had killed and caught anything, they would immediately sit down and cook it. If this happened they would come home empty-handed, quite shamelessly, saying “awpapoo achi” (no butterflies). Each boy was supplied with a large butterfly net and collecting box. In every box we stuck a certain number of pins, and told the boy that if he filled his box with good specimens he would receive a stick of tobacco. Bad specimens I always discarded in the culprit’s presence, so that his iniquity might come home to him. I had, of course, to undertake the training of the collectors myself, although Sam helped to explain the method. First, I got a butterfly and showed how to handle it and pin it sideways into the box. The crucial matter was the seizing of it once it was in the net. It must be carefully taken between finger and thumb and the thorax pinched on the under side. If it be pinched from above—as every butterfly collector knows—the operator’s finger-marks would show on the wings and betray slovenly handling. Some of the boys became very neat-fingered after a time, but others would not learn at all, and were so shameless that they would bring in part of a wing carefully stuck on the pin—in fact, it was “anything to fill your box.” Occasionally the less scrupulous would appropriate the pins to their own use. Of course there was nothing for it but to pay off and send away such useless fellows. [Illustration: DOBOI, OUR NATIVE COOK AT DINAWA. ]