Upon the whole, they were a merry, indigent, godless race.
Tonoi, the old sinner, leaning against the fallen trunk of a cocoa-nut tree, invariably squandered his mornings at pebbles; a gray-headed rook of a native regularly plucking him of every other stick of tobacco obtained from his friends, the planters.

Toward afternoon, he strolled back to their abode; where he tarried till the next morning, smoking and snoozing, and, at times, prating about the hapless fortunes of the House of Tonoi.

But like any other easy-going old dotard, he seemed for the most part perfectly content with cheerful board and lodging.
On the whole, the valley of Martair was the quietest place imaginable.
Could the mosquitoes be induced to emigrate, one might spend the month of August there quite pleasantly.

But this was not the case with the luckless Long Ghost and myself; as will presently be seen..