e nothing," said he sincerely. "It was
Pango Dooni, it was the beggar of Nangoon. I am not fit to rule."

He turned to his father, but saw no help in his eyes for refusal. The
lad read the whole story of his father's face, and he turned again to
the people.

"If ye will have it so, then, by the grace of God, I will do right by
this our land," said he.

A half-hour later he stood before them, wearing the costly robe of
yellow feathers and gold and perfect silk of the Dakoon of Mandakan.

"The beggar of Nangoon who saved our city, bid him come near," he said;
but the orderly stepped forward and told his story of how the beggar had
returned to his banyan tree.

"Then tell the beggar of Nangoon," said he, "that if he will not visit
me, I will visit him; and all that I promised for the Dakoon of Mandakan
I will fulfil. Let Cushnan Di stand forth," he added, and the old man
came near. "The city which was yours is yours, again, and all that was
taken from it shall be restored," said he.

Then he called him by his real name, and the people were amazed.

Cushnan Di, as he had been known to them, said quietly:

"If my Lord will give me place near him as general of his armies and
keeper of the gates, I will not ask that my city be restored, and I will
live near to the Palace--"

"Nay, but in the Palace," interrupted Cumner's Son, "and thy daughter
also, who hath the wisdom of heaven, that there be always truth shining
in these high places."

An hour later the Dakoon passed through the Path by the Bazaar.

"Whither goes the Dakoon?" asked a native chief of McDermot.

"To visit a dirty beggar in the Residency Square, and afterwards to the
little house of Cushnan Di," was the reply.

IX. THE PROPHET OF PEACE

The years went by.

In the cool of a summer evening a long procession of people passed
through the avenues of blossoming peach and cherry trees in Mandakan,
singing a high chant or song. It was sacred, yet it was not solemn;
peaceful, yet not sombre; rather gentle, aspiring, and clear. The people
were not of the city alone, but they had been gathered from all parts of
the land--many thousands, who were now come on a pilgrimage to Mandakan.

At the head of the procession was a tall, lithe figure, whose face
shone, and whose look was at once that of authority and love. Three
years' labour had given him these followers and many others. His dreams
were coming true.

"Fighting, fighting, naught but fighting