Dr. Schweitzer, with his St. Francis-
like attachment to animals, has a special
fondness for antelope fawns. Here he is
with Léonie and Theodore. "Léonie knows
when I've had a hard and hot day," he
laughs. "See--she comes up and licks my
arms dry. She likes the salt in the per-
spiration." His pet antelope fawns nuzzle
the Doctor and chew his trousers. Léonie
sniffs at the clothes of one of the American
visitors. The Doctor chuckles, "She's too
well educated to eat Boston trousers!"

The fawns are growing big, and it takes
considerable strength now to restrain them
as they tug on their leashes.

The Doctor recalls: "Léonie and her
mother fell into a pit set by the indigènes
to trap animals. When the natives arrived,
the mother in her fright gave a mighty
bound and leaped out, but the poor little
fawn was left behind. The indigènes
brought her to me, and I have raised her."

At sundown each day, the Doctor tries
to pull himself away from the endless
chores for a few minutes' relaxation with
his fawns. He sits on the hill sloping
down to the river and stares out re-
flectively through the palm trees and across
the broad water. He cannot remain long,
however, for the malaria-bearing anopheles
mosquitoes come with the darkness and
impose an automatic curfew.

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