They shook their heads, which were evidently empty of ideas. Only John stroked his white beard, and inquired mildly:
“What have you arranged, Allan? My dear wife and I are quite willing to leave the matter to you, who are so resourceful.”
“Arranged!” I stuttered. “Really, John, under any other circumstances——” Then after a moment’s reflection I called to Hans and Mavovo, who came and squatted down upon the verandah.
“Now,” I said, after I had put the case to them, “what have you arranged?” Being devoid of any feasible suggestions, I wished to pass on that intolerable responsibility.
“My father makes a mock of us,” said Mavovo solemnly. “Can a rat in a pit arrange how it is to get out with the dog that is waiting at the top? So far we have come in safety, as the rat does into the pit. Now I see nothing but death.”
“That’s cheerful,” I said. “Your turn, Hans.”
“Oh! Baas,” replied the Hottentot, “for a while I grew clever again when I thought of putting the gun Intombi into the bamboo. But now my head is like a rotten egg, and when I try to shake wisdom out of it my brain melts and washes from side to side like the stuff in the rotten egg. Yet, yet, I have a thought—let us ask the Missie. Her brain is young and not tired, it may hit on something: to ask the Baas Stephen is no good, for already he is lost in other things,” and Hans grinned feebly.
More to give myself time than for any other reason I called to Miss Hope, who had just emerged from the sacred enclosure with Stephen, and put the riddle to her, speaking very slowly and clearly, so that she might understand me. To my surprise she answered at once.
“What is a god, O Mr. Allen? Is it not more than man? Can a god be bound in a pit for a thousand years, like Satan in Bible? If a god want to move, see new country and so on, who can say no?”
“I don’t quite understand,” I said, to draw her out further, although, in fact, I had more than a glimmering of what she meant.