Dwight thrilled to realize that he was looking upon the original aborigines of New Guinea. Like the Negritos of the Philippines, and our own cave men forbears, they were short, strong little men, with well-developed muscles and stout legs, and they were in a high state of hunting-tribe civilization, as shown by the decency of the gourd, the absence of barbaric ornament, and the efficient hunter’s equipment that each man carried. They did not seem particularly afraid, but stood staring at the white party, arrows on bow, ready for any eventuality. The curator grinned and, pointing at the mangy-looking dog, “_Wiwi!_” he pronounced. The four started with astonishment, to hear a word in their own tongue spoken by this strange-looking white man. Then, pointing at the most clownish-looking one of the four, “_Amare-ta?_” (“His?”) he asked, smiling genially. The man was evidently the butt and good fellow of the crowd, for the shot about it being _his_ dog went home. A black-whiskered old pirate, who was evidently their leader, cracked a smile and nodded his head. Then they began to chatter among themselves, excitedly. Evidently they had heard of the English expedition from their own tribes to the south. The English had treated them well, experienced as they are in handling natives. “_Kami oro-ta?_” (“Your houses?”) asked the curator, next. “Gosh! boys, I only know fourteen words of their language, but I’m working them for all they are worth!” he exclaimed in an aside to their own party. The pygmies grinned and nodded again, dropping their arrow points in a more friendly manner. He was winning them fast. “_Kema-u-uteri!_” said the old fellow, vigorously, pointing toward the village. “He means they’re going to give us a pig and some coconuts,” explained the curator to his own party. “They want us to come up to the village. I guess not! We’ll stay right here and see what next.” He nodded his thanks for their offer; then, “_Area-ta ku!_” (“My boat!”) he said to the pygmies, waving his hand toward the lagoon down in the valleys. “_Uta doro-ta!_” he added, pointing to their camp site, the words telling them that his fire would be made there. The four nodded and grinned as the curator signified politely that they were welcome to visit him. Then they started up the trail, with many a backward glance of curiosity. “Now, then, boys, it’s up to us to barricade this camp and make it as strong for defense as we can, until we see how everything turns out,” said the curator, energetically, after they had gone.