“Thou mightest have given me a piece,” said Isa to Selim, in a complaining tone.
“How can you talk so, Master Isa?” asked Niani. “Your skin is as black as mine; sure, you look as though you were clothed already. You should be happy in having a black skin, instead of wanting a piece out of nothing.”
“A truce to your insolence, Niani, or I will come and break every bone in your body,” said Isa, angrily.
“You had better not, Isa, because I am a slave of Ferodia, the Mtuta chief; and if you kill me, Ferodia will kill you,” answered Niani.
“Well, then, hold your tongue, and don’t torment me. I am sick of life already, and sick in mind and body,” said Isa.
“Dost thou suffer much, lea?” asked Selim.
“Indeed I do. My head aches as if it would split, and all down my back run sharp pains. They are not the pains which that savage dog Tifum made, but something else. I think there is something serious the matter with me,” moaned poor suffering Isa.
“I hope not,” said Selim. “Cheer up, lea, my friend; we have only to reach Katalambula to have rest. This march cannot last for ever.”
“I shall never reach the country of the accursed Watuta,” said Isa. “My illness is too serious.”
“Why, what can the matter be with thee, my friend?”