ok on, for therein I read much and
thereby I grow wise. Now what would you of the Bee, White Man, the Bee
that labours in this Garden of Death, and--what brings _you_ here,
son of Zomba? Why are you not with the Umcityu now that they doctor
themselves for the great war--the last war--the war of the white and the
black--or if you have no stomach for fighting, why are you not at the
side of Nanea the tall, Nanea the fair?"

Nahoon made no answer, but Hadden said:--

"A small thing, mother. I would know if I shall prosper in my hunting."

"In your hunting, White Man; what hunting? The hunting of game, of
money, or of women? Well, one of them, for a-hunting you must ever be;
that is your nature, to hunt and be hunted. Tell me now, how goes the
wound of that trader who tasted of your steel yonder in the town of the
Maboon (Boers)? No need to answer, White Man, but what fee, Chief, for
the poor witch-doctoress whose skill you seek," she added in a whining
voice. "Surely you would not that an old woman should work without a
fee?"

"I have none to offer you, mother, so I will be going," said Hadden, who
began to feel himself satisfied with this display of the Bee's powers of
observation and thought-reading.

"Nay," she answered with an unpleasant laugh, "would you ask a question,
and not wait for the answer? I will take no fee from you at present,
White Man; you shall pay me later on when we meet again," and once more
she laughed. "Let me look in your face, let me look in your face," she
continued, rising and standing before him.

Then of a sudden Hadden felt something cold at the back of his neck, and
the next instant the Bee had sprung from him, holding between her thumb
and finger a curl of dark hair which she had cut from his head. The
action was so instantaneous that he had neither time to avoid nor to
resent it, but stood still staring at her stupidly.

"That is all I need," she cried, "for like my heart my magic is white.
Stay--son of Zomba, give me also of your hair, for those who visit the
Bee must listen to her humming."

Nahoon obeyed, cutting a little lock from his head with the sharp edge
of his assegai, though it was very evident that he did this not because
he wished to do so, but because he feared to refuse.

Then the Bee slipped back her kaross, and stood bending over the fire
before them, into which she threw herbs taken from a pouch that was
bound about her middle. She was still a finely-shaped woma