"It is nice, mother; I will eat more by and by. I am so tired now."
"Poor little fellow! You are in no pain?"
"No, master, no pain; only tired."
"Cheer up! You will feel better in the morning."
He pressed the boy's hand and turned to leave with Barney. At the door Mboyo overtook him.
"He will not go yet to the Great Spirit, O Lokolobolo?" he whispered anxiously.
"We cannot tell, Mboyo. All we can do is to tend him well. Hope for the best."
"Poor bhoy!" said Barney as they went away; "'tis mighty little betther he is, sorr, I'm fearing. 'Twould tax the strength uv a horse to get over it, widout docthors an' all."
As they walked across the camp, here a man, there a woman, paused in their work to ask Lokolobolo how Samba was. Children came up—Lofinda, for whom Samba had shaped a tiny gun; Lokilo, proud of his little fishing-rod, Samba's gift; Isangila, wearing a necklace of dried maize he had made for her—and asked shyly when Samba would come out and play with them again. Some brought offerings of food specially prepared, delicate fish and rare fruits, the choicest spoil of forest and stream for miles around. Everybody loved the boy; and Jack loved him with a particular affection. Over and above his winning ways, Samba stood for so much to Jack, who, in thoughtful moods, seemed to see him as the spirit of the negro race, the embodiment of all that was best in the black man, the representative of millions of his kind, helpless pawns in a royal game of beggar my neighbour. It was Samba whose woful plight had first brought home to his heart the terrible realities of the rubber slavery; it was Samba who had been the means of founding Ilombekabasi; to him was due the torch of freedom lit at last in this stricken land—a torch that Jack, in his heart of hearts, dared to hope would never be extinguished. Surely the conscience of Christendom was awakening! Pray God the awakening came not too late!
A great silence lay upon Ilombekabasi. To a stranger beyond the walls the place might have seemed deserted, so still it was, with none of the cheerful bustle that marks the beginning of a new day. Men and women were gathered in little knots; they talked in whispers; some were sobbing; the eyes of most were dim with tears. Even the children were subdued and quiet; they forgot their play, staring at their elders with puzzled, solemn eyes. Why was the world so sad to-day? Was it because Samba was going away? Surely he would come back to them; he had come back before.