doing his best, but crying as if his heart would break. Janie followed,
also sobbing, and lastly the white mother herself carrying Annie, a baby
slave-girl, on her shoulder, and singing gaily to cheer the others, but
there was often a funny little break in her voice as she heard the
scream of the vampire-bat or the stealthy tread and growling of wild
animals close at hand.

Brushing against dripping branches, stumbling in the black and slippery
mud, tired and hungry and wretched, they made their way to Ekenge. When
they arrived all was quiet, and no one greeted them.

"Strange," said Ma to herself, for a village welcome is always a noisy
one. She shouted, and two slaves appeared.

"Where is the chief? Where are the people?" she asked.

"Gone to the death-feast at Ifako, the next village, Ma."

"Then bring me some fire and water."

She made tea for the children, undressed them, huddled them naked in a
corner to sleep, and sat down in her wet things to wait for the
carriers, who were bringing the boxes with food and dry clothes. A
messenger arrived, but it was to tell her that the men were too worn out
to carry anything that night. She jumped to her feet, and, bareheaded
and barefooted, dived into the forest to return to the river. She had
not gone far when she heard the pitter-patter of feet. She stopped.

"Ma! Ma!" a voice cried. It was the messenger. He loved Ma, and, unhappy
at the thought of her tramping along that lonesome trail, he had
followed her to keep her company. Together they ran, now tripping and
falling, now dashing into a tree, now standing still trembling, as they
heard some rushing sound or weird cry.

When she came to the beach she waded out to the canoe, lifted the
covering, and roused the sleeping natives. They grumbled a good deal,
but even these big rough men could not withstand Ma's coaxing, masterful
ways, and they had soon the boxes on their heads and were marching
merrily in single file along the wet and dark path to Ekenge. She made
them put the packages into the hut which Edem, the chief, had allotted
to her, a small, dirty place with mud walls, no window, and only an open
space for a door. When everything was piled up inside there was hardly
room for herself and the children, but she lay down on the boxes, and as
it was after midnight, and she was weary and foot-sore, she soon fell
into a deep sleep.

[Illustration: MA EME ETE.]

When the chief and his followers came back from th