hich the natives have made under
his direction, and deep, cool bungalows, which the natives have made
under his direction. Altogether, they are his towns, the foreigners'
towns, and he has constructed them so that they may remind him of his
home, ten thousand miles across the world.

It is not necessary to try to fancy the natives in these foreign
towns. They mean nothing to him, and are far distant from his
tendencies and desires. His own villages are different--thatched huts,
erected on bamboo piles, roofed with palm leaves. They cluster close
together along the winding brown rivers, on the edge of the jungle.
Mounted very high on their stilts of bamboo, crowding each other very
close together, compound touching compound for the sake of
companionship and safety. Safety from the wild beasts of the forests,
those that cry by night, and howl and prowl and kill; safety from the
serpents, whose sting is death, shelter, protection, from all the
dark, lurking dangers of the jungle--the evil, mighty forests, at
whose edge, between it and the winding yellow rivers, they build
themselves their homes. Yes, but life is very easy here, just the
same. A little stirring of the rich earth in the clearings, and food
springs forth. A little paddling up the stream or down, in a pirogue
or a sampan, a net strung across the sluggish waters, and there is
food again. A little wading in shallow, sunlit pools, a swift strike
with a trident, and a fish is caught. And fruit hangs heavy from the
trees. Life is very easy in these countries. And with the coming of
the sudden sunset of the Tropics, the evening fires are lighted in the
compounds and there is gathering together, with song and laughter,
rest and ease. So as life is very facile in the jungle, love of money
is unknown. Why money--what can it mean? Why toil for something which
one has no use for, cannot spend? Just enough, perhaps, to bargain
with the white man for some simple need--to buy a water buffalo,
maybe, for ploughing in the rice fields. No more than that--it's not
needed. And the very little coins, the very, very little coins, two
dozen of them making up the white man's penny, just enough of these
left over to stick upon the lips of Buddha, at the corners, with a
little gum. Thus a prayer to Buddha, and the offering of a little
coin, stuck with resin to the god's lips, as an offering. That is
all. Life is very simple, living in one's skin.

I have said all this so that you mi