ch they
thought might be reduplicated in their own persons. So it came about
that the chase, if noisy, was neither close nor eager.

We reached the edge of the lake where was the boat-house of which I
have spoken already, travelling at little more than a walk. Here we
made Bastin unfasten the better of the two canoes that by good luck was
almost filled with offerings, which doubtless, according to custom,
must be made upon the day of this feast to Oro, while we watched against
surprise at the boat-house door. When he was ready we slipped in and
took our seats, Tommy jumping in after us, and pushed the canoe, now
very heavily laden, out into the lake.

Here, at a distance of about forty paces, which we judged to be beyond
wooden spear-throw, we rested upon our paddles to see what would happen.
All the crowd of islanders had rushed to the lake edge where they stood
staring at us stupidly. Bastin, thinking the occasion opportune, lifted
the hideous head of the idol which he had carefully washed, and began to
preach on the downfall of "the god of the Grove."

This action of his appeared to awake memories or forebodings in
the minds of his congregation. Perhaps some ancient prophecy was
concerned--I do not know. At any rate, one of the priests shouted
something, whereon everybody began to talk at once. Then, stooping down,
they threw water from the lake over themselves and rubbed its sand
and mud into their hair, all the while making genuflexions toward the
mountain in the middle, after which they turned and departed.

"Don't you think we had better go back?" asked Bastin. "Evidently my
words have touched them and their minds are melting beneath the light of
Truth."

"Oh! by all means," replied Bickley with sarcasm; "for then their spears
will touch us, and our bodies will soon be melting above the fires of
that pit."

"Perhaps you are right," said Bastin; "at least, I admit that you have
made matters very difficult by your unjustifiable homicide of that
priest who I do not think meant to injure you seriously, and really was
not at all a bad fellow, though opinionated in some ways. Also, I do not
suppose that anybody is expected, as it were, to run his head into the
martyr's crown. When it settles there of itself it is another matter."

"Like a butterfly!" exclaimed the enraged Bickley.

"Yes, if you like to put it that way, though the simile seems a very
poor one; like a sunbeam would be better."

Here Bickley ga