Iris was the first to recover a degree of self-possession. For a moment
she had bared her soul. With reaction came a sensitive shrinking. Her
British temperament, no less than her delicate nature, disapproved
these sentimental displays. She wanted to box her own ears.

With innate tact she took a keen interest in the felling of the tree.

"What do you want it for?" she inquired, when the sturdy trunk creaked
and fell.

Jenks felt better now.

"This is a change of diet," he explained. "No; we don't boil the leaves
or nibble the bark. When I split this palm open you will find that the
interior is full of pith. I will cut it out for you, and then it will
be your task to knead it with water after well washing it, pick out all
the fiber, and finally permit the water to evaporate. In a couple of
days the residuum will become a white powder, which, when boiled, is
sago."

"Good gracious!" said Iris.

"The story sounds unconvincing, but I believe I am correct. It is worth
a trial."

"I should have imagined that sago grew on a stalk like rice or wheat."

"Or Topsy!"