Off went the man with the message, and this time he could not suppress his laughter.
“Tell the cook-boy to make some hot water quickly,” said the white man to a boy who was squatting near the door.
The King’s nephew, in apologetic tones, said: "The King’s position is a very difficult one. He loves Vianga, Yoani, Bentele, Alli[[50]] and you very much. You English were the first to bring God’s palaver to him and his people, every day you cure them of their diseases with your medicines, and you teach them all kinds of good ways; but the padres give him bales and bales of cloth and many boxes of beads. You know he is always greedy for trade goods and fine clothes; and these he receives in abundance from the Roman Catholic padres, hence when they asked him to go to their church to thank St. Catherine for his recovery, he was afraid to refuse them, although he believes in his heart what you frequently told him: that God blessed your medicine to his restoration. To show how he loves you English teachers, listen to what happened about a month ago. All the padres went to the King and told him that he was to order all his people to attend their church, and never again to go to your services. They were angry because their church was nearly empty every Sunday. They threatened to leave the town immediately, and that would mean a stoppage of all their presents, if he did not issue the order they requested. The King absolutely refused to command his people to attend either service, and said: ‘They shall be free to go wherever they like.’"
“I have always felt sorry for the trying position of the King,” said the white man, “and fully sympathize with him in his difficulties; but he is, as we say in English, trying to sit on two stools, and that is always very uncomfortable to the sitter, and most irritating to the stools.”
Just then three head men came hurrying into the house to beg again for some medicine, and to promise on behalf of the King that he would never again thank St. Catherine for what she did not, and could not accomplish. So the white man called for the hot water, and, mixing a glass of physic, sent it to the King.
In a short time the man returned with the report that the King felt better directly he drank the medicine.
“What was it you gave him?” he asked of the white man.
“Only some peppermint, hot water and sugar,” replied the missionary. “You tell the King from me,” he continued, “that he is not to eat so much.”
Bakula informed his white friend that he had come to bid him good-bye, for at “cock-crow” in the morning he and his party would be starting back for their town.
“Will you not come and live with me, and let me teach you God’s palaver?” asked the white man of the lad.