vy wooden beads hung by a round turn from his right
wrist. He sat down slowly in the place of honour, and, dropping his
slippers, tucked up his legs under him decorously.

The improvised divan was arranged in a wide semi-circle, of which the
point most distant from the fire--some ten yards--was also the nearest
to Lakamba's dwelling. As soon as the principal personages were seated,
the verandah of the house was filled silently by the muffled-up forms of
Lakamba's female belongings. They crowded close to the rail and looked
down, whispering faintly. Below, the formal exchange of compliments
went on for some time between Lakamba and Abdulla, who sat side by side.
Babalatchi squatted humbly at his protector's feet, with nothing but a
thin mat between himself and the hard ground.

Then there was a pause. Abdulla glanced round in an expectant manner,
and after a while Babalatchi, who had been sitting very still in a
pensive attitude, seemed to rouse himself with an effort, and began to
speak in gentle and persuasive tones. He described in flowing sentences
the first beginnings of Sambir, the dispute of the present ruler,
Patalolo, with the Sultan of Koti, the consequent troubles ending
with the rising of Bugis settlers under the leadership of Lakamba. At
different points of the narrative he would turn for confirmation to
Sahamin and Bahassoen, who sat listening eagerly and assented together
with a "Betul! Betul! Right! Right!" ejaculated in a fervent undertone.

Warming up with his subject as the narrative proceeded, Babalatchi went
on to relate the facts connected with Lingard's action at the critical
period of those internal dissensions. He spoke in a restrained voice
still, but with a growing energy of indignation. What was he, that
man of fierce aspect, to keep all the world away from them? Was he a
government? Who made him ruler? He took possession of Patalolo's mind
and made his heart hard; he put severe words into his mouth and caused
his hand to strike right and left. That unbeliever kept the Faithful
panting under the weight of his senseless oppression. They had to trade
with him--accept such goods as he would give--such credit as he would
accord. And he exacted payment every year . . .

"Very true!" exclaimed Sahamin and Bahassoen together.

Babalatchi glanced at them approvingly and turned to Abdulla.

"Listen to those men, O Protector of the oppressed!" he exclaimed. "What
could we do? A man must trade. Ther