FAMILY LIFE
Diseases and their cure--Betrothal and
marriage--Adultery--Divorce--A Moï
wedding--Birth--Childhood--The game of Pig-Snatcher.
No one with the least experience of the savage, no matter to what race
he may belong, will deny that the best way to win his friendship is to
cure his ailments.
Speaking for myself I habitually relied on my medical knowledge as a
passport to the approval of the Moï, and I was rarely disappointed,
for invalids of all sorts and conditions came daily to invoke the aid
of my medicine chest. Most of them suffered from ailments caused by
sudden changes of temperature, and their scanty clothing is a prolific
source of bronchial affections. They always came up with their hair in
disorder, hiding their faces as a sign of distress, putting out their
tongues, and striking themselves on the breast to draw my attention to
the seat of all their woe. They could hardly contain their glee when I
painted the affected part with iodine. Their bronzed skins assumed a
violet hue, then turned to browny red, assisted by their vigorous
scratching.
Some came from immense distances for auscultation, and my patients
included a large number of women, inspired, I think, more by curiosity
than any immediate necessity, for I usually presented a mirror to each
new patient. A few brought me their aged parents, under the impression
that I was quite capable of restoring them to youth. A man with one
arm came to ask for another, a man with one eye seemed astounded when
I repeated my refusal to get him a new one. I remember once a patient
appearing who was shivering with fever. I gave him a few grains of
quinine and a glass of water to wash it down.
"Now whistle, my boy."
He whistled at once under the impression that this musical exercise
was part of the treatment, whereas in truth my only object was to make
sure that the drug had really been swallowed. Its bitterness had no
deterrent effect whatever, for he stretched out his hands,
accompanying the movement with a wink which means in all languages; "I
can do with as much as you like."
In another case a chronic bronchitis demanded treatment by
wet-cupping. A thick plank which happened to be handy took the place
of an operating-table, while an empty Madeira glass had to perform the
functions of the cupping-glasses of which I was destitute.
Lack of cleanliness and ordinary precautions is mainly responsible for
the fatal outcome of so many of the more serious complaints. Even the
most trifling ailments last an abnormal time, but I soon proved that
with reasonable treatment the adult Moï easily shakes off quite
virulent diseases. The race is, in fact, submitted to a process of
strict selection by the mortality among the infants, which is very
high. Only the hardiest specimens survive their childhood and are all
the more fitted to resist the attacks of disease.
Infants are fed in the most ignorant and reckless manner, hence the
prevalence of gastro-enteritis and rickets. On the other hand, the Moï
suffer considerably less from malaria than the Annamites and the
Chinese. Tuberculosis is uncommon and where found carries off its
victims with incredible rapidity.
The use of simples is not unknown and some of the less complicated
ailments have been successfully treated by this method. In general,
however, all diseases are attributed to the displeasure of the
Spirits, a superstition which the Sorcerer habitually turns to his own
advantage.
At first we had the greatest difficulty in inducing the natives to
submit to vaccination. The story was busily circulated that the mark
left by inoculation was a badge of servitude, and it was some time
before we succeeded in exposing the fallacy.
[Illustration: Birth Ceremonies: Carrying Fuel to a Young Mother.]
[Illustration: The Wife of a Moï Chief.]
[Illustration: A little Moï Family.]
Among certain Moï groups, such as the Sedang, Djarai and Rognao of the
lower lakes, it is usual for the boys to sleep in a special hut after
puberty has been reached. The primary purpose of this custom is to
prevent sexual intercourse before marriage, but it is quite
ineffectual to prevent the girls from meeting their lovers on the sly.
The usual result is that the mother generally kills her firstborn, as
no one comes forward to claim the fatherhood.
It is not too much to say that the Moï seems to attach no importance
to feminine chastity. Marriage is only the consecration of a
cohabitation of long standing, and sometimes there are several
children of the union before either party thinks of putting it on a
legal footing.
As a rule, a man must take his wife from the same group, or, in other
words, endogamy is _de rigueur_. The only connecting links with other
groups are the alliances with female slaves, to which the woman need
not be a consenting party. The consequence is that all the inhabitants
of a region are related. We have often tried to decide the vexed
question as to whether this consanguinity exercises a good or bad
influence on the progress of the race, but it is impossible to say
more than that the evidence is inconclusive.
Some European travellers, who, like myself, have resided among the
Moï, say that marriages are forbidden between first cousins on the
mother's side. They deduce from this fact that the natives consider
the part played by the mother in the transmission of hereditary
qualities more important than that of the father.
This theory, interesting and valuable as it might be if it applied to
a race in a higher stage of development, is probably unsound with
regard to the Moï, the phenomenon on which it is based being probably
merely the effect of coincidence. There has been an increasing
tendency of late years to attribute to half-civilized races scientific
knowledge which we have only recently acquired ourselves, and to
consider certain customs and beliefs primitive merely because they are
ignorant and coarse. Both tendencies are liable to lead to error and
require careful watching. In nine cases out of ten such customs are
not inspired by any exact knowledge of physiological phenomena at all.
Only a few groups permit exogamy, that is marriages with others than
members of the clan, and even where the system persists it does not
seem to be due to any defined totemic rule.
Totemism is a semi-magical, semi-religious system which is based on
the belief in a bond of relationship between a group of human beings
and some species of animal regarded as protector, "totem." It has been
noticed that a characteristic feature of totemism is the prohibition
of marriages between men and women with the same totem and therefore
belonging to the same clan.
The Moï are a strictly monogamous people, for the very natural reason
that the males outnumber the females, and this again for the equally
natural reason that the men are hardier and more able to survive the
manifold mischances of infancy. Another contributory cause to their
moderation in the matter of wives is their financial disability to
keep more than one. But it is not a matter of principle, and a man
would not hesitate to add to his stock if a sudden windfall made it
possible.
A woman's commercial value depends on her age and social condition and
varies also in different localities. In most cases she is paid for in
instalments to her parents, for the future husband is too poor to give
the presents which constitute the purchase price, and his only
resource is to sell his labour to pay off the debt. Accordingly there
is a stage more or less prolonged during which the young man combines
wooing and the duties of maid-of-all-work in the home of his beloved.
No arrangement could be happier in this country where labour is
scarce. The real object, however, of this cohabitation on trial is to
make sure that the characters of the two young people will harmonize
and that their affections will survive continuous personal contact.
Here, as elsewhere, there are cynics who say that familiarity breeds
contempt.
If the engagement is broken off the man must pay an indemnity fixed
beforehand. He pays his pig and takes his leave.
This custom is also in vogue among the Annamites, who call it "The
Son-in-Law in the making." A similar institution is found even to-day
in France, in certain villages of Haute-Savoie. The future son-in-law
comes to reside with his future wife's parents. In popular phraseology
he "makes the goat's marriage." The allusion becomes clear when we
know that in this country it is usual to lead the he-goat to the
she-goat, whereas in the case of other animals, such as bulls and
horses, the female is always taken to the male.
Returning to the question of a woman's commercial value, I made
inquiries in every province we visited, but found it seldom higher
than the equivalent of fifty francs.
The final act that seals the marriage compact is a reciprocal
scratching. While I was still in ignorance of this custom I received a
severe rebuff from a girl to whom I offered some ointment for the
scratches that disfigured her face. She refused it with scorn, for the
nail-marks with which her lover had adorned her cheeks were, in her
eyes, no other than his signature to the marriage-contract.
The rites and customs relative to betrothal and marriage vary greatly
in different parts of the country and among different groups. One
rule, however, is universal, and that is that the first step must be
taken by the man's parents, who approach those of the girl, not
without trepidation at the outset, for nothing is more humiliating
than to be rejected. Accordingly the first interview is popularly
dubbed the "Visit of the little gift of betel to the little garden
gate."
If the parents' advances are received with favour a second visit
follows and the presents are more valuable than on the first occasion,
generally including chickens, rice, and still more betel. This last
substance is considered throughout the Far East as the emblem of
fidelity.
The dowry is met with only among the more prosperous groups. Of course
it is the future husband who provides it, a far more reasonable
arrangement than that with which we are familiar in Europe. In this
happy land worldly considerations count for nothing; dressmakers and
fashion-plates are unknown. The most expensive jewellery is of copper,
the finest coiffures are the superb orchids which abound in the
forests. There is no need to save up for the children to come. Books
are unknown. The sons will learn to hunt, their sole education, and
the girls will be taught to spin and weave. Far from being a burden to
her husband a wife is his most valuable assistant, so it is only fair
that the husband should make some compensation to her parents for the
loss he occasions to them.
The Moï, thanks to the kindly influences of the Laotians, have a much
higher idea of the status of womanhood than their neighbours the
Annamites. The husband always takes his wife into his confidence and
consults her in all the crises of life, and the wives reward their
husbands with a very high degree of fidelity. I remember one occasion
when I offered a trifling gift to the wife of one of our coolies. She
refused it point blank with the one word "bao" ("I am married"). She
was not familiar with our gallant European manners, and regarded the
acceptance of a present from a man as the first step towards the
rupture of the marriage tie.
The penalty of adultery is renowned for its severity. There was a
woman in our camp who was feeding her new-born baby. One night I was
roused by a succession of screams, and thinking that a fire must have
broken out, I called my boy and asked him the cause of the
disturbance. He adopted a tone of lofty cynicism and told me that a
husband was thrashing his unfaithful wife. Next day the woman was
unable to go to work and the child was nowhere to be seen. It seems
that her husband had suddenly conceived doubts as to its paternity,
and, suspecting his wife of adultery with an Annamite soldier who was
in our escort, he had turned himself into an instrument of justice,
beaten her without pity and cut the baby's throat. I complained of his
conduct to the Pholy (village chief), but far from taking any
proceedings he delivered himself in these words: "My only regret is
that the betrayed husband did not kill both the adulteress and her
paramour." I learnt thereby that the Moï regard an act which may
enfeeble the race as a crime against the community and punishable with
the utmost severity. The Annamites take a similar view, for their code
provides no punishment for a husband who kills an adulterous wife and
her paramour if caught in the act. The other alternative is to arraign
them before the provincial tribunal, which usually means a sentence
of ninety strokes with the lash. In most cases this severe penalty has
fatal results, but it may always be compounded at the price of one
franc per stroke, the redemption money being paid to the husband as
damages.
Divorce is easy and can be demanded at the instance of either party or
by mutual consent. The village elders meet to hear the charges and
complaints and assess the amount of compensation. If the dissolution
of the marital tie is the wish of both, the care of the younger
children is confided to the mother, that of the elder to the father.
Divorces, however, are uncommon. The husband does not want one, for it
will be difficult to replace the partner who represents half his
capital and perhaps all his labour. The wife is equally reluctant
whatever her sorrows may be, for any change may easily be for the
worse. If she marries another she will be little more than his humble
slave. All the heavy farm and household work falls on her shoulders,
including arduous duties which in civilized countries are assigned
exclusively to men. She crushes the rice, shells the corn, attends to
the harvest and assists in clearing the brushwood. Pregnancy makes no
difference to the burden of her daily tasks except for the entirely
inadequate period essential to delivery.
If the husband's means permit she will have no objection to his taking
a companion to himself. On the contrary, the new-comer will be an
addition to the household staff to whom she will assign the largest
burdens. She knows that as first wife her position will never be
seriously challenged, and as undisputed mistress of the household she
will exercise authority over the other "wives." This unwritten law
prevails throughout the Far East. A widow has little difficulty in
remarrying, as the area of choice is extensive, owing to the numerical
superiority of the men.
I was once honoured with an invitation to a Moï wedding. It was in the
village of Lebouy where I resided for some time, and my host was no
other than the chief himself, who couched his request in the following
terms:
"My elder brother, the great Giver of Tobacco" (this being the name
under which I was popularly known), "will, I hope, do me the honour of
sharing a buffalo which I propose to offer up at the marriage of my
daughter."
It would have been ungracious to decline an invitation expressed in
terms of such old-world courtesy. I exhibited my appreciation of the
honour by offering him a large glass of Madeira. He hesitated at
first, then squatted on the ground as a compliment to the excellence
of the liquor, took the glass gingerly in his hand and slowly emptied
it. The slaves who formed his bodyguard watched him with evident
admiration.
The evening before the wedding the bride-elect went to the banks of
the Da-Nhim, a river which flows at a distance of a few hundred yards
from the village. All her relations formed themselves into an escort,
for it is absolutely imperative that the whole family should be
present at the kind of ritual bathe on which she was bent. The entire
company plunged into the water, and after a few seconds of merry
splashing emerged and dried in the sun.
The opening item of the next day's festivities was the slaughter of
the buffalo which is, so to speak, the foundation of the feast. The
young warriors of the village armed with lances formed a circle round
the victim and hurled their weapons in turn, until at length one
struck a vital part and the beast fell over dead. The carcase was
dragged to the foot of a pole wreathed round with bamboo-shoots, and
the amateur butchers proceeded to cut it up into strips, of which some
were reserved to be smoked at a later stage.
The nuptial ceremony proper then began and was marked by an extreme
simplicity. The Guru, or Sorcerer, placed the couple and their parents
before a row of lofty posts adorned with the horns of recently killed
buffaloes. With great solemnity he then drew his knife, seized a white
cock and cut off its head, throwing the body over his right shoulder.
The headless bird struggled for a moment, flapped its wings in a last
spasm, and finally remained motionless on its breast on the ground.
The Sorcerer spat into a copper vase, not so much to relieve his
feelings as in satisfaction, for the victim's position foretold a
numerous posterity to the young couple. He then took a cotton thread
and bound the right hand of the man to the left hand of the woman.
This act made them man and wife and was of the same force as the
exchange of rings in our own country. A rapid invocation to the
Spirits of the Hearth followed, and then the feast began.
First I was requested to take my place on a rush mat under a huge shed
built for the occasion. A number of women appeared bringing fried
locusts, spices, bitter oranges, spirits of rice and meat, almost raw
and cut into strips. The newly married couple overwhelmed each other
with attentions, filled each other's mouths with rice and accepted in
good part the food which all their friends and relations thought it
necessary to offer them. Perhaps this rite is a symbol of the
principle of mutual help which ought to actuate not merely a family
but also tribes and nations.
Meanwhile a woman was conducting an orchestra of four all but naked
boys who beat a tattoo on huge gongs. Lest this should become
monotonous a musician played a melody in the minor mode and not
without a strange haunting charm. The instrument was a large empty
gourd on which three bamboo tubes were fastened. The range of this
original organ was confined to five notes, but the tones blended
pleasantly and in spite of the dragging time the tune was anything but
discordant.
[Illustration: A Sorcerer performing the Marriage Ceremony before the
Sacrificial Posts.]
[Illustration: Children scrambling over the Remains of the Wedding
Feast.]
We encouraged this artist with an offer of some cigarettes, and
presently he began to play for a dance, of which the principal
movements seemed to be raising the feet in turn, and striking the
ground with the heels or a stick. These operations became more rapid
and ended with a tremendous contortion of the whole body. It reminded
me forcibly of the well-known "bear dance," and is not peculiar to the
Moï, being also popular in Thibet.
Both the musician and the dancer were rewarded with the most unstinted
applause and invited to take a well-earned rest in view of the orgy
which now followed. On such an occasion the Moï regard sobriety as an
insult to the host, and indeed the charge could not have been levelled
at any of the guests then assembled. The last stage of the proceedings
was the distribution of presents, for interest can always seal the
bonds of friendship. At a given signal the husband flung lemons,
mangoes, areca nuts and other fruits among the crowd, who scrambled
for them without the least regard for order or good manners. For some
moments a free fight seemed imminent, but good humour finally
prevailed and the combatants dispersed chewing the inevitable betel
and bidding each other an inebriated farewell.
Among the Moï, as everywhere else, the birth of a child is an occasion
for rejoicing both to the family and the village. Such is the fear
that malevolent spirits will assail the mother during the critical
period that a special hut is made for her accommodation and all
strangers are forbidden to enter the village itself. This
prohibition, or "taboo," is known as "Dieng" in some regions and as
"Calam" in others. The experienced traveller will never dream of
attempting to evade it and expose himself to a summary vengeance at
the hands of the inhabitants, who are under orders to see it enforced.
Foreigners stand in no privileged position and we ourselves had
frequent occasion to bewail this absurd regulation. Imagine our rage
after a hard day's march under a tropical sun or soaked by torrential
rains when we found ourselves condemned to spend the night perched in
trees for fear of tigers, with the fires of a tabooed village burning
almost under our noses! The punishment of Tantalus was nothing to
this, and little consolation is to be derived from inveighing against
the ignorance which is the offspring of such blind superstition.
The house in which the mother-to-be is lodged is distinguished from
the others by a tuft of pompelmoose and a piece of charcoal suspended
from the roof. About the time when the happy event is to take place
all the inhabitants forgather in a special place to await the good
news.
Even to-day in certain European countries custom forbids the husband
and family to be present during labour.
If the group is not altogether destitute, sacrifices must be offered
to conciliate the Spirits, especially if it seems likely that
complications are threatening. Of course, the villagers offer no more
than they can help. The bidding, so to speak, for divine favour
generally starts with an egg and rises if the complications continue.
The egg will be followed by a chicken, then a goat, then a pig, and
finally an ox in cases of extreme necessity.
Only the woman's nearest relations are allowed to be present at the
accouchement, for which she assumes a sitting position. As soon as
labour begins they rub her stomach from top to bottom with tiger's gut
and make her lean against the knees of a female nurse. This is not a
universal practice, for in the North, among the Tho, for example, the
woman stands supported by two cords passed under her armpits.
Immediately after the birth the child is washed and anointed with
cocoa-nut oil. The navel-string is then cut with a sharpened bamboo
and the severed end tied up with a cotton thread or a blade of long
grass. The placenta is buried either in the house itself or in some
place adjacent.
It is interesting to compare these rites with those which accompany
the same event among certain African races. Among the Bushongo of the
Belgian Congo the woman adopts a sitting position and is supported by
the knees of a midwife. The placenta is likewise buried and also, at a
later stage, the foreskin of the child, if male. In Mandeling (on the
western frontier of Sumatra) the child is first washed and then kept
in confinement in the house, the natives claiming that this procedure
secures the child against evil influences.
After delivery the Moï woman lies on a low bed and a fire is kept
burning at her side day and night, the ashes from which are left
smouldering in earthenware vases to keep the room at an even
temperature. The smoke is supposed to act as an antiseptic. All the
young woman's friends demonstrate their devotion by bringing wood for
the fire, taking care to select the dead branches of certain species
of trees. Drifting logs from a river must on no account be used. They
bring fearful convulsions and certain death to the child.
A potion composed of simples which stimulate the circulation is now
administered to the invalid and the effect is augmented by rubbing her
all over with ginger. Her first meal consists of ginger, eggs and
rice. She is allowed to drink a concoction made from the horns of a
young stag. Strange as it may sound, this beverage is a valuable
tonic, which we ourselves used at times with great effect.
Ten or fifteen days after the birth the woman resumes her usual
arduous occupations. The baby is hung on her back in a little cloth
sack, secured over her shoulders to her girdle. His feet dangle on
each side of her, and in this position he passes the days cradled by
his nurse's movements.
The child is fed at the breast until between two or three years of
age, a custom which is a great strain on the mother. To lessen this
she gives him manioc and rice, taking care to soften them in her own
mouth first. The net result is that the baby's stomach attains an
unnatural size and his digestive organs suffer.
The nursling's first meal is the occasion of a special ceremony. The
mother is not yet ready to feed him herself, so the duty falls on one
of her attendants, who takes her seat on an upturned earthenware jar.
The position of this jar is highly significant in the eyes of the Moï.
A jar so placed can hold no water. Similarly a child's stomach can
hold no food, for it empties itself as fast as it is filled.
Dyspepsia, it would appear, is unknown among this fortunate people!
After this first meal an attendant goes through the pretence of
flattening the child's head against the centre pole of the hut. This
is to ensure that the head may not become pointed later on, a physical
peculiarity which is regarded as a sign of bad character. Another
favourite superstition in these regions is that certain odd numbers
are lucky and certain even numbers unlucky. Every mother hopes to give
birth to a three or a seven. Her fear is that the birth may occur
during the last quarter of the moon. As everyone knows, this belief in
the efficacy of certain numbers is almost universal and dates from
remote times. The Hebrews and Egyptians furnish many examples, and
many more are met with among the peoples of the Far East. Thus the
Brahminic Trinity comprises three persons, Brahma, Vishnu and Siva.
Angkor was built in seven days, as the Bible tells. The stars which
the faithful of Asia worship are seven in number.
The child is not named for the first two years of his life and is
doubtless happy enough to be called "Con-Nie," which to all intents
and purposes corresponds to our term "baby." Both the Moï and the
Annamites regard the naming of a child as a matter of great moment,
for the future depends on a fortunate choice. Nothing can be done
before the Sorcerer has been called in to consult the Spirits. This
official suggests a name, which is usually whispered into his ear by
the mother or the person who presided at the birth. The popular name
for a boy is "Squirrel," for a girl "Mouse." A large bowl filled with
rice is brought in. The Sorcerer empties it, taking out the grains two
at a time. If at the end of this operation only one grain is left at
the bottom the proceedings must be repeated until that ill-omened
result does not recur. It is not surprising, therefore, that
occasionally several days elapse before the ceremony can be continued.
The Sorcerer has an interest in the prolongation of these rites, for
throughout the whole time he is the guest of the family. If the child
dies or is attacked by one of the infantile affections so common in
this treacherous climate the mischance is attributed to the choice of
an unlucky name. The only hope is to change it at once, which involves
a repetition of the ritual rigmarole.
When the child is old enough to bear a light burden he will carry on
his back a basket, or even a younger brother, securely rolled up in a
kind of sack. Nothing could be more amusing than the solemnity with
which the youngster performs his function of dry nurse.
Among certain groups the children's hair is always kept short except
for a long wisp at the crown, which gives them a curiously old look.
Clothing is forgotten, as a rule, till the sixth year is past.
Sometimes a metal disc is hung from a cord round the waist, and a
favourite ornament is an anklet of iron with a small bell attached,
which is made and fitted by the village blacksmith. It is a badge of
servitude, for henceforth the child is devoted to the service of the
Spirits, who, in return, make him an object of their peculiar care.
During their early years the boys are active and intelligent and
readily absorb knowledge of all kinds, but as manhood approaches they
become apathetic, lazy and incapable of sustained effort. I once
undertook the experiment of training a boy to act as my servant. He
was about twelve years old, with a remarkably bright face, and very
quick and graceful in his movements. In a short time he had learnt to
read and count. His eyesight was so good that we always used him when
taking sights for our geodetical instruments. He was never happier
than when I gave him a rifle to carry during our shooting-parties.
After a year, however, his character changed completely. He became
intractable and moody, and fiercely resented any criticism. We were a
long way from his tribe and he could not return home except through a
forest infested with tigers. The prospect of a long and dangerous
journey seemed to have no terrors for him. He begged me to let him go,
and jumped with joy when I gave my permission. In a twinkling he was
out of his European clothes and had donned the old loin-cloth, which
he had preserved with the greatest care as a mark of race. He bowed
three times, took up his basket and disappeared with every expression
of jubilation. His obvious glee was some consolation for the annoyance
his departure caused me, for I had set my heart on softening his
savage nature and winning his affection. It was with real regret that
I confessed myself beaten. On the other side of the account must be
placed the feat of Madame Cunhac, the wife of one of our governors,
who successfully brought up a Moï girl. The child grew to have an
unshaken belief in her mistress and followed her about like a faithful
dog, showing her affection and gratitude on every possible occasion,
nor could she be induced to return to her village by threats or
bribes.
A child receives nothing that can be dignified with the name of
education. His incessant occupation consists of playing all day with
his little companions. Many of the games played are extremely
interesting and we spent many an hour in the evening watching them.
Perhaps the favourite is a game they call "The Pig-Snatcher," in which
there are three principal _dramatis personæ_, the Snatcher, the
Shopkeeper and the Pig. The greatest competition is for the position
of the two former, so the candidates are subjected to a preliminary
trial. They all take turns at catching a twig on a long pole and
balancing it, and the two most expert are rewarded with the rôles of
Shopkeeper and Snatcher respectively. The next plays the part of the
Pig, which consists of saying nothing, but grunting vigorously at
intervals.
The unsuccessful candidates join hands and make a ring round the lucky
three.
The Snatcher now approaches with slow steps and interrogates the
Shopkeeper as follows:
"Hello, maternal aunt! Please give me some fire."
"O elderly brother, the fire is under the ashes."
"Well, then, give me a gourd of water."
"The water is at the bottom of the well."
"Then give me a guava."
"The guava is still on the tree."
Feigning dismay at these repeated rebuffs the Snatcher takes a few
steps backwards and suddenly stops, for the Pig, in the person of a
small urchin of barely five years old, gives forth a timid grunt.
"What is the animal I hear in your stable?"
"It is a spotted pig."
"What kind of spots has it?"
"Red on its paws and white on its tail. It has every perfection, and
the less I feed it the fatter it gets."
"Really! Will you take a Mat for it?" (A Mat is a piece of iron which
is used for exchange and worth about a penny.)
"No, it is not for sale."
The dialogue continues, the Snatcher increasing his offer up to a set
of gongs, but the Shopkeeper is not to be tempted. At length the
Snatcher is weary and pretends to leave the shop. The game seems to be
over, but the children enjoy it too much to allow it to be cut short;
so there is a general burst of laughter when the Shopkeeper in her
most wheedling voice recalls the customer before he has proceeded very
far.
"Here, Pig-Snatcher, come in! I have changed my mind and I will sell
it to you for a broken cup."
The Snatcher, delighted at this unexpected turn of events, hastens to
secure his prize, but is prevented from moving out of the circle
formed by the children. He clasps a girl of about twelve who
represents one of the doors of the house and shakes her by the
shoulders.
"What is this door made of?" he asks.
"It is of ironwood," replies the Shopkeeper. Burglary in that quarter
is doomed to failure, he thinks, and finds a younger girl.
"Of what wood is this one?"
"Teak."
"Still too strong. What of this third?"
"It is made of rotten fibres," the Shopkeeper cries.
On that the encircling chain snaps suddenly. The Snatcher, who is no
other than the Tiger in human form, darts at the Pig. Despairing
squeals. A savage roar. The village dogs appear upon the scene, and
amid peals of merry laughter the game comes to an end.