through
streams until she caught up with the warriors, who were making ready to
attack and uttering their wild war whoops.

She walked into their midst.

"Don't go on like beardless boys," she said in scorn. "Be quiet."

Then she went on until she came upon the enemy drawn up in line across
the path.

"I salute you," said she.

There was no reply. Why was this white woman interfering with them at
such a moment?

"Oho! I see you are gentlemen and have nice manners."

They frowned. Things were looking dangerous, but Ma was never at a loss,
and she began to smile and joke. Then stepped forward an old man and
came and knelt at her feet.

"Ma, you know me? You remember you nursed and healed me?"

It was the sick chief she had gone to see after she arrived at Ekenge.

"Ma," he went on, "we confess that this quarrel is the fault of one of
our foolish men, and it is a shame to bring evil on the whole town for
one. We beg you to make peace."

Ma's heart thrilled with joy, and soon she had a number of men from each
side talking over the matter. Often it seemed as if war must come after
all, and it needed all her patience to make them agree, but at last it
was decided that a fine should be imposed. To her horror this was paid
at once in gin, and every one began to drink. She knew they would soon
get violent and fight after all, and was almost in despair.

But taking off nearly all her clothes, she spread them over the boxes
and bottles and dared any one to touch them. Only one glass would she
give to each of the head men. So disappointed were the others that they
surged round her in anger, but some of the older and wiser men obtained
whips and made themselves into a bodyguard to protect her.

"If all of you go to your homes and don't fight," she said, "I'll
promise to send the stuff after you."

They believed her, and trooped away like children.

It was night again when, worn out in body and mind, she tramped back
through the dark and lonely forest, with crickets whistling and frogs
croaking around her, and the little lamps of the fireflies pulsing in
and out like the flashes of a lighthouse. But there was a light in her
own face that even the fireflies could not outshine.

Two years passed, two years of toil and hardship and strain. In the heat
and rain, by day and night, Ma was never idle. If she was not tramping
through the forest and putting down the customs of the people, she was
busy with work about her