at he was a little vain, and never disposed to
resent any kind friend boasting of his prowess, you will have a perfect
picture of Moto the Mrori.

The first night on the road with some caravans is not very lively; the
people are engaged either in thinking of the joys they have left behind
them, or they are shy, and are sounding one another's qualities before
making advances. But in the camp of Amer bin Osman there was no regret
at parting from Zanzibar, since the great master and little master were
with them, and every man knew his fellow and mate; thus there was no
disruption of friendships, associations, and congenialities. Most of
those who were married had their wives with them; those who were not
married had their intimate friends and saw time-endeared faces around
them. They were all of one household. It was like unto the migration
of an entire settlement.

One glance within the huts and at the squatting forms informed you that
they were all happy--if not happy, contented. No eyes like the
coal-black, the pure well of jet undefiled, of the native African, when
the firelight is reflected in their quick sparkles, can so well
represent merriness. Those people with those sparkling eyes were merry;
they were interesting each other with their trite stories of very trite
lives; but when a peal of laughter louder than usual startled the camp
and rang through the forest, you may be sure it was either at a story of
hearsay or at something that Simba or Moto had been saying.

Such a laugh was heard, and instantly all eyes and mouths were uplifted,
and ears seemed to be quickened, to catch a few words of the story that
had caused an interested group to so loudly vent their delight.

The interested party of laughers were seated around a miniature bonfire,
which Simba and Moto had kindled some thirty feet or so from the chief's
tent. Selim had lately arrived before it, and Simba had rolled a mighty
log behind his young master and had asked him to be seated, himself
seated on the ground, attentive and alert to please him; and Moto, not
to be outdone in assiduity by Simba, had just begun to draw from the
recesses of his memory, or from the cells of his imagination, one of his
best stories, when a ludicrous incident occurred and Selim had laughed
heartily. Their young master had laughed, and of course when he laughed
Simba laughed; then seeing Simba laugh Moto laughed; and, as real
genuine laughter is contagious, all ha