onesty is the best
policy--as we all know so well that we forbear to prove it--and the
Englishman saw that the tale would be darker from the lips of his black
attendants. The negro monarch was of much-enduring mind, but these
tidings outwent his philosophy. He ordered Twemlow's head to come off by
dinner-time, and, alas, that royal household kept very early hours; and
the poor captain, corded to a tree, sniffed sadly the growth of good
roast, which he never should taste, and could only succeed in succession
of fare. For although that enlightened King had discarded the taste of
the nations around him, it was not half so certain as the prisoner could
have wished that his prejudice would resist the relish of a candid rival
in prime condition.

While Twemlow was dwelling upon this nice question, and sympathising
deeply with the animal on the spit, Tuloo, the head councillor of
the realm, appeared, an ancient negro full of wisdom and resource.
Discovering that the white man set more value on his head than is usual
with these philosophers, he proposed conditions which were eagerly
accepted, and releasing the captive, led him into his own hut. Here the
man of wisdom spat three times into his very ample bosom, to exorcise
evil spells, and took from a hole in the corner something which he
handled very carefully, and with a touch as light as possible. Following
everything with his best eyes, Twemlow perceived in the hand of Tuloo
a spongy-looking substance of conical form, and in colour and size very
like a morel, but possessing a peculiar golden glow. "Kneel here, my
son, and move not until I tell you," the old man whispered, and was
obeyed. Then he stripped off all covering from the white neck and
shoulders, and beginning immediately below the eyes, brushed all the
cheeks and the chin, throat and neck and upper part of the bosom, with
the substance in his hand, from which a yellow powder passed, moist
rather than dusty, into the open pores. "In one moon you will be a beast
of the woods, and in two you shall return to the Queen that loves you,"
said Councillor Tuloo, with a sly little grin.

But Twemlow was robbed of no self-respect by the growth of a forest
about him; and when he was sent again to Queen Mabonga, and the dewy
glance of love died at the very first wink into a stony glare--because
of his face being covered with hair--he said to himself that he knew
where he could inflict a very different impression upon ladies. F