fastening him by bands about the waist, the arms, and head -- the
vegetal band entirely covering the open mouth. His hands were laid
in his lap. The chair was set close up before the door of the house,
with the corpse facing out. Four nights and days it remained there
in full sight of those who passed.

One-half the front wall of the dwelling and the interior partitions
except the sleeping compartment were removed to make room for those
who sat in the dwelling. Most of these came and went without function,
but day and night two young women sat or stood beside the corpse
always brushing away the flies which sought to gather at its nostrils.

During the first two days few men were about the house, but they
gathered in small groups in the vicinity of the fawi and pabafunan,
which were only three or four rods distant. Much of the time a blind
son of the dead man, the owner of the house where the old man died,
sat on his haunches in the shade under the low roof, and at frequent
intervals sang to a melancholy tune that his father was dead, that
his father could no longer care for him, and that he would be lonely
without him. On succeeding days other of the dead man's children,
three sons and five daughters, all rich and with families of their
own, were heard to sing the same words. Small numbers of women
sat about the front of the house or close in the shade of its roof
and under its cover. Now and then some one or more of them sang a
low-voiced, wordless song -- rather a soothing strain than a depressing
dirge. During the first days the old women, and again the old men,
sang at different times alone the following song, called "a-na'-ko"
when sung by the women, and "e-ya'-e" when by the men:

Now you are dead; we are all here to see you. We have given you all