“Next[“Next] morning the Wine-gatherer and the Fisherman awoke, and calling each other they started for the valley where their work was, and there parted--one to look at his calabashes on the palm-trees, and the other to visit his fish-traps.
“The Wine-gatherer, on arriving at the booth, took his hoop and climbed a palm-tree, and there he found, not his calabash, but a fish-trap; he pulled it off and threw it down in anger, and descended the palm. Thus he went from palm to palm and found nothing but fish-traps, which he collected and carried to the booth, and sat down to wait for his friend, full of wrath and indignation.
“While this was happening the Fisherman was going from pool to stream, finding nothing but small calabashes floating on the water where he had put fish-traps the night before. In great anger he gathered them up and carried them to the booth, and there he met his friend, who said: ‘Those calabashes, are they not mine?’
“To him the Fisherman replied: ‘Those fish-traps, are they not mine?’
“‘Why did you put your useless fish-traps in my palm-trees?’ excitedly asked the Wine-gatherer.
“‘Why did you put your silly calabashes in my streams and pools?’ retorted the Fisherman.
“And without more ado they stood up and beat each other, and cut each other, until at last they fell exhausted to the ground.
“At this moment the mischievous boy arrived, and seeing their plight, said: ‘What! are you not friends? Why have you been beating each other? I heard your covenant of friendship the other day, and because I wanted to try it I went and changed your things. Now you have been quarrelling with each other without talking matters over. Inquiry should come first, and anger follow after.’”
This story elicited many a chuckle from the listeners; but at last, overcome by sleep, they rolled themselves in their mats and were soon in the land of dreams. The next morning they were astir before sunrise, and after traversing many hills and wading several swamps and streams Bakula and his friends reached their noon camping-place, tired, hungry and disagreeable. Everybody threw down his or her load, and stretched themselves in the shade.
It was a wearisome road. The hills were steep, the paths simply rain-washed gutters where all the earth had been swept away by the torrents, leaving only the rough stones sticking up, and often on either side of the track was tall grass from ten to twelve feet high that interlocked their stalks when the storm winds played among the hills or whirled through the valleys, so that the travellers as they pushed their way forward had frequently to put their arms before them to keep the points of grass out of their eyes and the sharp blades from cutting their faces.