“Yet for all this, Babbalanja,” said Media, “Bello but holds lunatic Verdanna’s lands in trust.”
“And may the guardian of an estate also hold custody of the ward, my lord?”
“Ay, if he can. What can be done, may be: that’s the Greed of demi- gods.”
“Alas, alas!” cried Yoomy, “why war with words over this poor, suffering land. See! for all her bloom, her people starve; perish her yams, ere taken from the soil; the blight of heaven seems upon them.”
“Not so,” said Media. “Heaven sends no blights. Verdanna will not learn. And if from one season’s rottenss, rottenness they sow again, rottenness must they reap. But Yoomy, you seem earnest in this matter;—come: on all hands it is granted that evils exist in Verdanna; now sweet Sympathizer, what must the royal Bello do to mend them?”
“I am no sage,” said Yoomy, “what would my lord Media do?”
“What would you do, Babbalanja,” said Media.
“Mohi, what you?” asked the philosopher.
“And what would the company do?” added Mohi.
“Now, though these evils pose us all,” said Babbalanja, “there lately died in Verdanna, one, who set about curing them in a humane and peaceable way, waving war and bloodshed. That man was Konno. Under a huge caldron, he kept a roaring fire.”