When it was finally clear of the ground on which it had grown for so many generations, the great plant was lifted on to a large mat, and after it had been packed with wet moss by Stephen in a most skilful way, for he was a perfect artist at this kind of work, the mat was bound round the roots in such a fashion that none of the contents could escape.

Also each flower scape was lashed to a thin bamboo so as to prevent it from breaking on the journey.

Then the whole bundle was lifted on to a kind of bamboo stretcher that we made and firmly secured to it with palm-fibre ropes.
By this time it was growing dark and all of us were tired.
"Baas," said Hans to me, as we were returning to the house, "would it not be well that Mavovo and I should take some food and go sleep in the canoe?
These women will not hurt us there, but if we do not, I, who have been watching them, fear lest in the night they should make paddles of sticks and row across the lake to warn the Pongo." Although I did not like separating our small party, I thought the idea so good that I consented to it, and presently Hans and Mavovo, armed with spears and carrying an ample supply of food, departed to the lake side.
One more incident has impressed itself upon my memory in connection with that night.

It was the formal baptism of Hope by her father.

I never saw a more touching ceremony, but it is one that I need not describe.
Stephen and I slept in the enclosure by the packed flower, which he would not leave out of his sight.