In the spaces usually occupied by pictures were specimens of the native weavers' art, very highly coloured cloths of coarse texture. On shelves over the doors and windows of his dining-room were pots, mugs, bowls, and platters of carved wood. The patterns were curiously like those one finds on early pottery dug up in such quantities and in so many spots along the shores of the Mediterranean. A kaross or skin blanket was thrown over the back of almost every chair and covered the one settee.
There was hardly anything of European manufacture in the hall and dining-room. Even the tables and chairs were native made and of country timber. In place of carpets, the floors were covered with rush and reed mats ornamented with strange patterns done in brightly dyed bark and fibre.
The bedroom alone held nothing but European furniture.
The collection was certainly a remarkable one—I have not attempted a complete inventory—and Gregory had taken great pains to arrange it, as some would say, artistically.
One day five natives arrived carrying a letter addressed to Gregory. It was from a woman, Chief in her own right. It ran as follows:
April.
My Friend,
I send to you my servant Siadiadiadi with four others. As I cannot come to you myself I send my five people. I have heard much of your fine house and wish to see it. As I am old I send my people that they may see it and bring me word of it. I ask you to let them see it for three days, and on the fourth they shall return to me.
I am well and all my people are well, but the cattle have a disease. I hope you are well.
I must close my letter now with greetings.