“Why, I do believe it’s a Zoo!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I do hate to see the poor things shut up! How would we like to be shut up in cages and stared at by crowds of animals, I should like to know? People are so funny! It’s just the same way with flowers. They say, ‘Oh, I do love the beautiful flowers!’ and then, off they pull their heads, and stick them in ugly old vases, in stuffy rooms! That isn’t much like loving them! I wouldn’t love things that way.” Pondering deeply, she added, “Oh, I don’t know how I’d love! It would be bigger than the biggest balloon! Oh, much huger! I wish I had someone to scrumble and squeege now! It’s simply miserable being alone!”
“Those who love as you do are never alone,” said a soft rich voice from the mist in front of her. For she had now reached the tablecloth of cloud which hung over the mountain top.
Coppertop was startled. And yet she did not feel really afraid—the voice was too gentle for anyone to be afraid of. It reminded her of her mother’s voice.
“Do not fear, little one!” continued the voice. “It is I, Waomba, who speaks.”
“I don’t think I know you, do I?” stammered Coppertop. She had never heard the name before, but the gentle voice she knew quite well.
“I came from the Shadowland of the Barimo, because I heard you call.”
“I—I don’t think I did call!” murmured the child.
“Yes, little one, your heart did! It was lonely, and it called to me. Come!”
And at these words the mist rolled back and revealed a gigantic, but beautiful, negress.
Upon her head, which towered almost to the sky, were two large buffalo horns, held by a band of gold; her shoulders and arms were bare, and round her waist coiled a golden snake, which held in place her robe of bluest blue. Against her heart there cooed a grey ring-dove; and ah, she looked serene and wonderful.