The weekly Iberian. (New Iberia, La.) 1894-1946, 1919-12-20

put them to bglng and packing From
the reeds along the river he dragged
to light veritahle fleet vt scoWs they
were up-ended along the bank. scraped.
calkcd and pitched one after an
other they were noated ont into waist
high water and anchored. The days
were no longer enough. Every woman
in the camp was set TO making long.
tightly bound palm-lcaf torches and
the pickanins from eight years UP
were organized into squads to light
the night shift through the short hours
of darkness. Msungo took bis sleep,
if he took any, leaning against a tree
near The nest of hand-pressure baling
machines.
All hands were kept steadily at work
until it was completed At its finish
when all the available material was
stacked along the edge of the forest in
great oblong piles that looked like
newly cut timber M'sungo gave
great spread.
To each ten men he allotted a tin
of marmalade; to each twenty n box
of crackers. sack of -four, one load
of salt and a demiiohn of cheap but
sound wine. Andrea watched this
wholesale depletion Of the white mans
wondered. her heart went way up and
then way down. Was this the begin
ming of another end? Was she sorry
or was she glad? She looked back on
the few days of her new life and they
seemed already TO have stretched into
years. She was too young or too care
less to have learned that time passes
slowly only to those who are In a rut
of daily routine, dragging tragically
under the blows Of sorrow and almost
forgetting itself entirely when joys are
various
The day came when the last of the
barges, towing little scow stacked
with an overflow remnant of bales.
was dispatched and M'sungo could
take long breath and turn his at
tention to putting the camp in order.
This in itself was no small task. All
branches, chips, bark, refuse and other
rubbish consequent upon the work in
the forest was gathered and burned.
Then, as squad after squad of labor
ers left for home and the planting,
their grass huts, scattered without the
limits of the permanent craal. were
also set on fire.
within a week of the first rains"
said M'sungo to listless Andrea, 1.-THE
wilderness will have returned alto
gether to its own to all outward mp
pearance. Three weeks after that,
anyone penetrating to the clearing we
have made will find nothing beyond
dourishing shamba or corn patch. the
very natural property of the crnal."
On night Of downpour Andrea sat
In her room. hands crossed upon dis
carded book In her lap and eyes wide
ly fixed on some point Of focus far be-
yond the encircling walls Of her hut.
She was frightened, for her soul had
no escape. She could not phone up
a taxi and party Of four and go to
a show and supper afterward. thus
losing the universal guest.
With childish gesture Of despair,
she crept into bed, curled up with her
face against the pillow and wept. The
more she cried, the more 1t rained;
the more II rained, the more she cried.
There was no end to that-no end--no
- Sleep did Its best to take and hold
her but tonight its grip was uncertain
and long before morning It saw defeat
coming and made dastardly retreat.
Andrea awoke, not slowly. not swim.
ming up to consciousness through
drowsy gradations. but suddenly with
a swapping of eyes wide open on a
great emptiness. She was alone. ter
ribly alone, and hopelessly awake. She
lay staring up at the uncheerful lam
tern that she had purposely left burn
Ing. Its chimney was smoked. Out
side. rain still poured.