ds seek the broken twigs for the building of nests, O
Moonspirit?"

"Truly, but why are the branches of thy tree rotted and broken?"

"When the axe of the peasant pecks at the roots of the tree dost thou
think then that the sap runs the more swiftly, knowing?"

"A devil hast told thee this thing, O Bakuma. When the sun was but a man's
height did not a jackal break out of the forest seeking to devour, and yet
the chicken was neither hurt nor taken. Are these not white words?"

"Truly, O Moonspirit," acknowledged Bakuma reluctantly.

"Was not then the magic of Moonspirit more potent than that of thy
wizards?"

"Thy words are white," she admitted.

"Wherefore then hast thou ashes in thy mouth?"

Bakuma dismally contemplated Birnier's booted leg.

"Eh!" grunted the sophisticated Mungongo, "to those who live on the
mountain the crocodile is not!"

"Open thy breasts unto me, O Bakuma," said Birnier.

"Clk!" she gasped, making a little gesture of hopelessness. "When the sun
shines are not the flowers open? But when the night hath come where are
the flowers? The deer feed on sweet pastures, but when the shadow of the
lion falleth upon the grass hath not a great cloud come over the world?"

"But thy lion hath fled, O Bakuma!"

She gazed at the white man with curious wonderment at the stupidity of one
failing to comprehend the simplest problem. She sighed and then as if with
much patience for another's shortcomings:

"Thou hast strong magic, O white man," said she, "magic that makes the
magic of Bakahenzie to fall as water. Yet was the daughter of Bakala not
found by divination? Was the daughter of Bakala not revealed to be the
bride of the Banana by divination? There shall be made magic that the
voice of the one shall be obeyed. Eh! Aiee! Aie!"

The brown eyes welled opals which splashed upon a bronze breast. As
Birnier watched her, pity stimulated a desire to relieve this symbol of
self-torture, and he thought of a favourite passage in the "Anatomy":

"Ay, but we are more miserable than others, what shall we do? Beside
private miseries, we live in perpetual fear and danger; for epithalamiums,
for pleasant music, that fearful noise of ordnance, drums, and warlike
trumpets still sounding in our ears; instead of nuptial torches, we have
the firing of towns and cities; for triumph, lamentations; for joy,
tears."

"Well, Bakuma," said he in English, smiling covertly, "we'll see if we
can't get you the nup