"We are going the rounds with Vicente to see the rubber plantation, and then go home by the river."
"Do let me go with you, I am sure my mother would not object," cried Affonzo.
"I shall send Joachim home with word of your safety to ease her mind, and as you wish it so much, you may come with us; so eat and we will start."
Senhor Dias was a rubber exporter. From his plantation near Para went out huge balls of the rubber, solid, tough and brown. It is very interesting to watch the process of obtaining this from the milk-white sap of the rubber trees.
"Well, Vicente, shall we start now," said the Senhor when they had breakfasted.
"When the Senhor is ready," said Vicente.
The Indian lived by himself all the year around in his little hut. All along the Amazon these cabins may be found, hidden in the woods, and in each one dwells only a single Indian. It is a lonely and dangerous life, the climate is unhealthful, the swampy lands of the river valley where the rubber trees grow are low and malarious, and the syringuero has often to wade knee deep in mud, and work all day in wet clothing.
The Indians are trustworthy workers and many of them earn a good living. Old Vicente had worked there so long that he would not have known how to act anywhere else, but he was glad to have company on his lonely rounds. So he smiled at Affonzo as the boy skipped along, gathering one gorgeous flower after another, as merry as the sunshine after the rain.
"You'd better walk a little more slowly, and save your strength for the day's tramp," said his father. "You'll be tired by night."