cked magic and power?

Thus argued Marama, disbelieving the tale of the frightened sorcerers,
for he admitted as much to me in after days.

Marama departed in a great hurry, fearing lest the "god of the
Mountain," or Bastin, whose new and splendid garb he regarded with much
suspicion, might develop some evil energy against him. Then we went back
to our camp, leaving the industrious Bastin, animated by a suggestion
from Bickley that the fruit and food might spoil if left in the sun,
to carry it into the shade of the cave. Owing to the terrors of the
Orofenans the supply was so large that to do this he must make no fewer
than seven journeys, which he did with great good will since Bastin
loved physical exercise. The result on his clerical garments, however,
was disastrous. His white tie went awry, squashed fruit and roast pig
gravy ran down his waistcoat and trousers, and his high collar melted
into limp crinkles in the moisture engendered by the tropical heat. Only
his long coat escaped, since that Bickley kindly carried for him.

It was just as he arrived with the seventh load in this extremely
dishevelled condition that Oro and his daughter emerged from the cave.
Indeed Bastin, who, being shortsighted, always wore spectacles that,
owing to his heated state were covered with mist, not seeing that
dignitary, dumped down the last basket on to his toes, exclaiming:

"There, you lazy beggar, I told you I would bring it all, and I have."

In fact he thought he was addressing Bickley and playing off on him a
troglodytic practical joke.

Oro, however, who at his age did not appreciate jokes, resented it and
was about to do something unpleasant when with extraordinary tact his
daughter remarked:

"Bastin the priest makes you offerings. Thank him, O Lord my father."

So Oro thanked him, not too cordially for evidently he still had feeling
in his toes, and once more Bastin escaped. Becoming aware of his error,
he began to apologise profusely in English, while the lady Yva studied
him carefully.

"Is that the costume of the priests of your religion, O Bastin?" she
asked, surveying his dishevelled form. "If so, you were better without
it."

Then Bastin retired to straighten his tie, and grabbing his coat
from Bickley, who handed it to him with a malicious smile, forced his
perspiring arms into it in a peculiarly awkward and elephantine fashion.

Meanwhile Bickley and I produced two camp chairs which we had made
ready,