“Yes, I have,” said Tabitha with a laugh.
“Is it so, Little Flower? Then be silent and do not say what you have lost. Have you told any what you have lost?”
“No,” answered Tabitha, “because I was afraid I should be scolded.”
“There, Imba, there, Little Flower, even that is too much, because you see the old cheat might guess something from your words. Yes, he might guess that it is something of value that you have lost, such as a bracelet of gold, or the thing that ticks, on which you white people read the time. Nay, be silent and do not let your face move lest I should read it. Now let us see what it is that you have lost.”
Then he turned to his confederates, as Thomas called them, and began to ask them questions which need not be set out in detail. Was it an animal that the Little Flower had lost? No, it was not an animal, the Spirits told him that it was not. Was it an article of dress? No, they did not think it was an article of dress, yet the Spirits seemed to suggest that it had something to do with dress. Was it a shoe? Was it scissors? Was it a comb? Was it a needle? No, but it was something that had to do with needles. What had to do with needles? Thread. Was it thread? No, but something that had to do with thread. Was it a silver shield which pushed the needle that drew the thread?
Here Tabitha could contain herself no longer, but clapped her hands and cried out delightedly:
“Yes, that’s it. It’s my thimble.”
“Oh! very well,” said Menzi, “but it is easy to discover what is lost and hard to find it.”
Then followed another long examination of the assessors or acolytes, or witch-doctor’s chorus, by which it was established at length that the thimble had been lost three days before, when Tabitha was sitting on a stone sewing, that she believed it had fallen into a crevice of rocks, and so forth.
After this the chorus was silent and Menzi himself took up the game, apparently asking questions of the sky and putting his ear to the ground for an answer.