s
the tropical rains. Discouraged, he threw himself on the ground.

An unusual sound made him jerk his head up to listen. It came again,
and the boy rose quietly to his feet, focusing his senses on the
sound. Cautiously he advanced toward it. In the jungle it is always
wiser to be the one to attack. The sound was repeated, and Piang
breathed easier. It was made by an animal, not by his dread lake
enemies. Gradually he crept nearer and when he parted the bushes and
peeped through, he almost shouted in his excitement. He had reached
the Big Pass. A broad river swept rapidly by, and along the banks
wild carabao rolled and splashed, making queer diminutive sounds, not
in keeping with their ungainly size. Piang was careful to keep out
of sight, as they are apt to be dangerous when their very uncertain
nerves are startled.

For more than two days Piang fought his way through the entanglement
of cogon grass and vicious vines, cutting and hewing his way,
afraid to cross the river and follow the Ganassi trail. Finally,
one rosy dawn, he came upon the lake as it sparkled and shimmered in
the early light. The boy held his breath, delighted with the beauty
of the view. Far in the distance mountains rose in a blue and purple
haze. The lake was nestled in the heart of them, fed by many clear
brooks and springs. Its bed had once been the crater of an active
volcano, but Piang did not know this.

From his retreat, built high among the dense trees, Piang watched
the lake people ply their way to and fro across the water. Somewhere
on that lake was the secret of the floating rice, and the boy was
determined to discover the truth. He hid before dawn at the water's
edge near a spot that he had noticed was much frequented. As usual,
a swarm of natives visited it about noon. Piang watched them dip
up gourds and cocoanut-shell cups full of water. They strained it
through cloths, repeating and repeating the action. He was sure it was
the coveted rice that they were gathering and he impatiently waited
for them to go; no sooner had they departed, however, than others
arrived to take up the task. There was nothing to do, but wait again
for dawn, and Piang wriggled himself back to his grove and mounted
his platform home.

He was very restless all night and hardly slept at all, so anxious
was he for the first streaks of light. As he lay with eyes upturned,
he watched the stars grow dim: before they had entirely disappeared,
Piang was standing