ery time, and saw that identical old lady in the very midst of those
abdominal tribulations.

"That she was really in great distress," he went on to say, "was
plainly to be seen; but that in that particular instance, your
Plujii had any hand in tormenting her, I had some boisterous doubts.
For, hearing that an hour or two previous she had been partaking of
some twenty unripe bananas, I rather fancied that that circumstance
might have had something to do with her sufferings. But however it
was, all the herb-leeches on the island would not have altered her
own opinions on the subject."

"No," said Braid-Beard; "a post-mortem examination would not have
satisfied her ghost."

"Curious to relate," he continued, "the people of that island never
abuse the Plujii, notwithstanding all they suffer at their hands,
unless under direct provocation; and a settled matter of faith is it,
that at such times all bitter words and hasty objurgations are
entirely overlooked, nay, pardoned on the spot, by the unseen genii
against whom they are directed."

"Magnanimous Plujii!" cried Media. "But, Babbalanja, do you, who run
a tilt at all things, suffer this silly conceit to be uttered with
impunity in your presence? Why so silent?"

"I have been thinking, my lord," said Babbalanja, "that though the
people of that island may at times err, in imputing their calamities
to the Plujii, that, nevertheless, upon the whole, they indulge in a
reasonable belief. For, Plujii or no Plujii, it is undeniable, that
in ten thousand ways, as if by a malicious agency, we mortals are
woefully put out and tormented; and that, too, by things in
themselves so exceedingly trivial, that it would seem almost impiety
to ascribe them to the august gods. No; there must exist some greatly
inferior spirits; so insignificant, comparatively, as to be
overlooked by the supernal powers; and through them it must be, that
we are thus grievously annoyed. At any rate; such a theory would
supply a hiatus in my system of meta-physics."

"Well, peace to the Plujii," said Media; "they trouble not me."

CHAPTER LXXXVII
Nora-Bamma

Still onward gliding, the lagoon a calm.

Hours pass; and full before us, round and green, a Moslem turban by
us floats--Nora-Bamma, Isle of Nods.

Noon-tide rolls its flood. Vibrates the air, and trembles. And by
illusion optical, thin-draped in azure haze, drift here and there the
brilliant lands: swans, peacock-plumaged, sailing throug