Birnier smoked and pondered. The walls of the forest were growing closer in the beginning of twilight. The soul of fear, reflected Birnier, dwells in the [pg 201] unknown. Reveal the god in the machine and the mystery dies. To Bakuma he said:
“Listen, O Bakuma, I would speak heavy words to thee. When thou puttest the seed of the gourd into the ground then within half a moon there appears the plant of the gourd; is it not so?”
“Truly,” answered Bakuma disinterestedly.
“Is that then magic?”
“Eh!” commented Bakuma, as in astonishment. “Nay, how could that be? Does not the soul of the plant grow even as a child grows?”
“Good. Turn thine eyes to me.” Bakuma watched the operation of striking and lighting a match with indifference. “Then is this fire which I make done by magic?”
“Truly.”
“And thou, Mungongo, what thinkest thou?”
“Moonspirit tickles the souls of my feet!”
“H’m.” Birnier repressed a smile. “Thou knowest that my words are white?”