r exists between the parents of the husband and those of
the wife and neither between the latter (the father and mother of the
wife) and their sons-in-law. They are only upon simple friendly terms.

Humourists who are fond of exercising their wit upon the eternal
mother-in-law question would find no ground for their jokes among this
people.

The daughter-in-law, on the contrary, recognizes her husband's parents
as her own father and mother.

This does not, however, prevent her from still feeling and cherishing a
fond affection for those who are nearest to her in blood and who were
the authors of her being.

She goes very often to see them and is welcomed with great joy. At
parting they give her good wishes and advice.

"Go, follow thy husband!".

"Take care not to fall by the way!".

"Abor!".

"Abor!".

As far as I know there are no other relations acknowledged by the Sakais
who dwell on the forest heights, beyond these I have mentioned and even
these are reduced to four names: father, mother, sister and brother. It
is very difficult, though, to get information about the bonds of
kinship.

Judging from the youthful age at which they marry and have children and
assuming that the greatest age which they reach is that of 60 years old
(a calculation purely by guess as it is impossible to ascertain
precisely) it may be said that every village is populated by the second,
third, fourth and even fifth generation of the same people.

[Illustration: A primitive method of lighting a fire.

_p._ 147.]

In fact, establishing the date of his first paternity at 16 years old,
it is evident that at 32 a Sakai may be a grandfather, at 48 a
great-grandfather and at 64 a great-great-grandfather.

The closer and more direct the relationship the stronger is their
affection.

The tenderest love that a Sakai can bestow is poured out upon his son,
especially when the child is little, but gradually, with the passing of
years, and the formation of new families around, the warmth of this
attachment somewhat cools down, perhaps because there is no longer any
need of his care.

* * * * *

Kind reader, I have introduced you (as best I could) to my good friends
of the Malay forest; I have made you know their virtues and their
defects, their habits and their family ties and now I should like you to
follow with me the little tribe marching from one end of their territory
to the other in order to fix