“My mother;––you make him white!”
She nodded her head.
“I am whiter than the other boys;––than all the boys!”
She picked up the bowl again and tried to draw lines on it with her unsteady fingers.
“And you talk more than all the boys,” she observed.
“Did the moon give me to you?” he persisted. “Old Mowa says I am white because the moon brought me.”
“It is ill luck to talk with that woman––she has the witch charm.”
“When I am Ruler, the witches must live in the old dead cities if you do not like them.”
Mo-wa-thé smiled at that.