when the door was closed, and the night fire made up, and every
man in his hammock, she would set herself going, telling the most
interminable stories, until the last listener was fast asleep;
later in the night, if any man woke with a snort or grunt, off
she would go again, taking up the thread of the tale where she
had dropped it.

Old Cla-cla amused me very much, by night and day, and I seldom
tired of watching her owlish countenance as she sat by the fire,
never allowing it to sink low for want of fuel; always studying
the pot when it was on to simmer, and at the same time attending
to the movements of the others about her, ready at a moment's
notice to give assistance or to dart out on a stray chicken or
refractory child.

So much did she amuse me, although without intending it, that I
thought it would be only fair, in my turn, to do something for
her entertainment. I was engaged one day in shaping a wooden
foil with my knife, whistling and singing snatches of old
melodies at my work, when all at once I caught sight of the
ancient dame looking greatly delighted, chuckling internally,
nodding her head, and keeping time with her hands. Evidently she
was able to appreciate a style of music superior to that of the
aboriginals, and forthwith I abandoned my foils for the time and
set about the manufacture of a guitar, which cost me much labour
and brought out more ingenuity than I had ever thought myself
capable of. To reduce the wood to the right thinness, then to
bend and fasten it with wooden pegs and with gums, to add the
arm, frets, keys, and finally the catgut strings--those of
another kind being out of the question--kept me busy for some