ears ago there was no hill there at all, and the ground
was covered with small white ants. You have seen the little ant-houses
many a time on the garden-path, and all the ants at work, carrying
grains of sand in their mouths, and running this way and that, as if
they were busy in the most important work. Oh, the little ants are
very wise! They seem to know how to contrive great things and are
never idle. "Go to the ant; consider her ways, and be wise," said one
of the world's wisest men.

Well, on the spot where this hill now stands the white ants began to
work. They were not satisfied with small houses like those which we
have seen, but they worked day after day, week after week, and even
years, until they had built this hill higher than the house in which
I live, and inside it is full of chambers and halls, and wonderful
arched passages. They built this great house, but they do not live
there now. I don't know why they moved,--perhaps because they didn't
like the idea of having such near neighbors when Sekomi began to
build his hut before their door. But, however it was, they went, and,
patient little creatures that they are, built another just like it a
mile or so away; and Sekomi said: "The hill is a fine place to plant
my early corn."

There is but little hoeing to do this morning, and, while the work
goes on, Shobo, the baby, rolls in the grass, sucking a piece of
sugar-cane, as I have seen children suck a stick of candy. Haven't
you?

The mother has baskets to make. On the floor of the hut is a heap of
fine, twisting tree-roots which she brought from the forest yesterday,
and under the shadow of her grassy roof she sits before the door
weaving them into strong, neat baskets, like the one in which the men
carried their dinner when they went to hunt. While she works other
women come too with their work, sit beside her in the shade, and
chatter away in a very queer-sounding language. We couldn't understand
it at all; but we should hear them always call Manenko's mother
Ma-Zungo, meaning Zungo's mother, instead of saying Maunka, which you
remember I told you is her name. Zungo is her oldest boy, you
know, and ever since he was born she has been called nothing but
Ma-Zungo,--just as if, when a lady comes into your school, the teacher
should say: "This is Joe's mother," or "This is Teddy's mamma," so
that the children should all know her.

So the mother works on the baskets and talks with the women; but
Manenko h