“Macumazana, my father,” he said quietly, “what words have you for me?”
“Words of thanks, Mavovo. If you had not been so quick, Imbozwi would have finished me. As it is, the knife only touched my skin without breaking it, for Dogeetah has looked to see.”
Mavovo waved his hand as though to sweep this little matter aside, and asked, looking me straight in the eyes:
“And what other words, Macumazana? As to my Snake I mean.”
“Only that you were right and I was wrong,” I answered shamefacedly. “Things have happened as you foretold, how or why I do not understand.”
“No, my father, because you white men are so vain” (“blown out” was his word), “that you think you have all wisdom. Now you have learned that this is not so. I am content. The false doctors are all dead, my father, and I think that Imbozwi——”
I held up my hand, not wishing to hear details. Mavovo rose, and with a little smile, went about his business.
“What does he mean about his Snake?” inquired Brother John curiously.
I told him as briefly as I could, and asked him if he could explain the matter. He shook his head.
“The strangest example of native vision that I have ever heard of,” he answered, “and the most useful. Explain! There is no explanation, except the old one that there are more things in heaven and earth, etc., and that God gives different gifts to different men.”