, standing open-mouthed in his surprise and
anger. There are thirty miles of river from Sambir to the gem-like
islands of the estuary where the frigate was awaiting the return of the
boats. The moon rose long before the boats had traversed half that
distance, and the black forest sleeping peacefully under her cold rays
woke up that night to the ringing laughter in the small flotilla provoked
by some reminiscence of Almayer's lamentable narrative. Salt-water jests
at the poor man's expense were passed from boat to boat, the
non-appearance of his daughter was commented upon with severe
displeasure, and the half-finished house built for the reception of
Englishmen received on that joyous night the name of "Almayer's Folly" by
the unanimous vote of the lighthearted seamen.

For many weeks after this visit life in Sambir resumed its even and
uneventful flow. Each day's sun shooting its morning rays above the tree-
tops lit up the usual scene of daily activity. Nina walking on the path
that formed the only street in the settlement saw the accustomed sight of
men lolling on the shady side of the houses, on the high platforms; of
women busily engaged in husking the daily rice; of naked brown children
racing along the shady and narrow paths leading to the clearings. Jim-
Eng, strolling before his house, greeted her with a friendly nod before
climbing up indoors to seek his beloved opium pipe. The elder children
clustered round her, daring from long acquaintance, pulling the skirts of
her white robe with their dark fingers, and showing their brilliant teeth
in expectation of a shower of glass beads. She greeted them with a quiet
smile, but always had a few friendly words for a Siamese girl, a slave
owned by Bulangi, whose numerous wives were said to be of a violent
temper. Well-founded rumour said also that the domestic squabbles of
that industrious cultivator ended generally in a combined assault of all
his wives upon the Siamese slave. The girl herself never
complained--perhaps from dictates of prudence, but more likely through
the strange, resigned apathy of half-savage womankind. From early
morning she was to be seen on the paths amongst the houses--by the
riverside or on the jetties, the tray of pastry, it was her mission to
sell, skilfully balanced on her head. During the great heat of the day
she usually sought refuge in Almayer's campong, often finding shelter in
a shady corner of the verandah, where she squatt