"Jeekie," said Barbara, "don't disappoint me."

"Very well, miss, I fall in with your wishes. The Yellow God that all
these gentlemen worship, quite another god to that of which you desire
that I should tell you. You know all about him. My god is of female
sex."

At this statement his audience burst into laughter while Jeekie rolled
his eyes again and waited till they had finished. "My god," he went on
presently, "I mean, gentlemen, the god I used to pray to, for I am a
good Christian now, has so much gold that she does not care for any
more," and he paused.

"Then what does she care for?" asked someone.

"Blood," answered Jeekie. "She is god of Death. Her name is Little
Bonsa or Small Swimming Head; she is wife of Big Bonsa or Great Swimming
Head."

Again there was laughter, though less general--for instance, neither Sir
Robert nor Mr. Champers-Haswell laughed. This merriment seemed to excite
Jeekie. At any rate it caused him to cease his stilted talk and relapse
into the strange vernacular that is common to all negroes, tinctured
with a racy slang that was all his own.

"You want to hear Yellow God palaver?" he said rapidly. "Very well, I
tell you, you cocksure white men who think you know everything, but
know nothing at all. My people, people of the Asiki, that mean people of
Spirits, what you call ghosts and say you no believe in, but always look