that the Kalubis had a
tradition that the god once possessed a wife which died before the Pongo
migrated to their present home. If so, these may have been the bones of
that wife. When it was finally clear of the ground on which it had grown
for so many generations, the great plant was lifted on to a large mat,
and after it had been packed with wet moss by Stephen in a most skilful
way, for he was a perfect artist at this kind of work, the mat was
bound round the roots in such a fashion that none of the contents could
escape. Also each flower scape was lashed to a thin bamboo so as to
prevent it from breaking on the journey. Then the whole bundle was
lifted on to a kind of bamboo stretcher that we made and firmly secured
to it with palm-fibre ropes.

By this time it was growing dark and all of us were tired.

"Baas," said Hans to me, as we were returning to the house, "would it
not be well that Mavovo and I should take some food and go sleep in the
canoe? These women will not hurt us there, but if we do not, I, who have
been watching them, fear lest in the night they should make paddles of
sticks and row across the lake to warn the Pongo."

Although I did not like separating our small party, I thought the idea
so good that I consented to it, and presently Hans and Mavovo, armed
with spears and carrying an ample supply of food, departed to the lake
side.

One more incident has impressed itself upon my memory in connection with
that night. It was the formal baptism of Hope by her father. I never saw
a more touching ceremony, but it is one that I need not describe.

Stephen and I slept in the enclosure by the packed flower, which he
would not leave out of his sight. It was as well that we did so, since
about twelve o'clock by the light of the moon I saw the door in the wall
open gently and the heads of some of the albino women appear through
the aperture. Doubtless, they had come to steal away the holy plant they
worshipped. I sat up, coughed, and lifted the rifle, whereon they fled
and returned no more.

Long before dawn Brother John, his wife and daughter were up and making
preparations for the march, packing a supply of food and so forth.
Indeed, we breakfasted by moonlight, and at the first break of day,
after Brother John had first offered up a prayer for protection,
departed on our journey.

It was a strange out-setting, and I noted that both Mrs. Eversley and
her daughter seemed sad at bidding good-bye to th