"By the bye," says Roger, "you never told me, either of you, about the Flamingo outrage. There are many things I could forgive, but not that. It was one of my great pleasures out here, going to see the Stotts and watching the flamingoes on the lake shore. If I'd been here at the time I should certainly have followed up the brute and shot him..."
"We didn't tell you because we wanted you to get well, and feared you might do something violent before your leg was healed."
"Well, now that I know, I shall certainly lodge a strong complaint with the German Commandant at Kondoa...."
"Ann Anderson has solemnly cursed him for his cruelty," said Mrs. Stott. "She said so in the letter she sent him by the poor Masai whose hand he chopped off. I think that, by the bye, is better worth taking up with the authorities than the flamingo massacre. I'm afraid you won't find many of the Germans sympathize with you there, though I must admit they are a great loss to the scenery. But Ann said in the letter: 'If man doesn't punish you, God will.'"
"Of course," said Roger, "it is a scandal the way the Germans tolerate this monster, just because, like Patterne—I suppose he hasn't turned up again?..."
"Don't know."
"... Just because he lives on the outskirts of civilization in no man's land. I shall try a ride on one of the Basuto ponies next week, go first of all and see your old station of Mwada, interview Ann, remind her of the parable of the Mote and the Beam, ask her to go slow ... with these denunciations of moral frailty; and get some idea of the damage done to the flamingoes. I expect my complaints may draw down on me counter remonstrances from the Germans. I heard a growl the other day from a Herr Inspektor of Native schools that you taught no German" (addressing Mrs. Stott), "only Swahili and a little English. What could you do in that respect? I should not like them to have any excuse for interference with you...."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Stott, her face paling at the very thought, "after all the time, labour, money—much of it your money—that we've put into Mission work in the Happy Valley. Oh, why wasn't it taken over by the English? ... I think it would break my heart to leave it and begin our work over again. We've got so fond of the people ..."
"Don't be down-hearted," said Roger, "I shall always stand up for them as long as I'm here, and I have no intention of going—except for a holiday—for ever so long.... What a strange noise...?!..."
A prolonged, distant rumble, like the sound a big avalanche makes in the Alps: and before they could speculate on its meaning, the ground trembled under their feet, the two-storied house seemed to sway this way and that, and then settle itself with a jarring thud. Fine dust fell from the ceiling; trophies of shields and spears came clattering down, the glass and china on the table tinkled, the finger-bowls giving forth a prolonged musical note. Outside, after a moment's hush, cocks crowed, hens whooped, geese raised grating screams, peacocks honked and yelled, turkeys gobbled and crowned cranes threw back their golden-crested heads and uttered their resounding call.