s had but just crowed the second
time, and the light was but just winning way in the east. The
night was holding out steadily so far.

Was it he, Isaka, who had awakened, or some other? He was not
very clear. Strange alike looked the happiness behind, and the
hope before him. He was not sure of himself in that twilight of
his senses. It seemed scarcely believable his title to either
gift of heaven to memory or to expectation.

Surely but slowly his brain cleared, his doubt grew faint as that
star was growing, his outlook bright as the one pane in the wall,
looking east. He sprang up with one of the best wills in the
world; he was far too happy to be drowsy any longer. Soon he was
washing himself, and dressing himself in white, with real zest.
Last night had been a joy-night indeed, and the morning promised
brilliantly. It was doubtless he himself who had both reached and
enjoyed the night's happenings, he also who now stood firm on the
threshold of the morning, having reached that also. Isaka, who
had been Kadona, was a native of an African village with a far
glimpse on fair days of Kilimanjaro. Being born where he was, and
dwelling where he did, he belonged to a certain Central European
Power. Certain manifestations of that Power had made him uneasy
from his goat-herding boyhood onwards.

He had walked warily, and kept an unscored back, but he gathered
that fellow subjects were not always so fortunate. At last the
claims on his attendance of a Government School had become
importunate. Suddenly he took his fate into his hands, bade his
family farewell (was not his mother dead these two years?), and
made for a track through the forest. Since he must go to school,
he would choose his own schoolmaster, and he chose one that he
knew. This teacher, as it happened, stood for another European
Power further west. He was fast ageing now, he could remember the
days before Europe divided up with such appetite so much of
Africa. He had been traveling on some teaching errand, and had
fallen sick and lain nearly a whole month at Kadona's village.
Kadona had brought him many gifts milk and ground-nuts and honey.
The sick man for his part had not been thankless. As for gifts,
he had given a knife and salt and soap and matches, but he had
also shown fellow-feeling, which meant much more. Their
friendship, signed and sealed outwardly by what they gave, was
underlain by affection of a promising sort. So Kadona went to
this teacher's