especially those who, having passed through a similar experience in
their youth, remembered what starvation meant in that country. Religion,
they reflected, was all very well, but without mealies they could
not live, and without Kaffir corn there would be no beer. Indeed,
metaphorically, before long they passed from murmurs to shouting,
and their shouts said this: Menzi must be invited to celebrate a
rain-service in his own fashion for the benefit of the entire tribe.

Thomas argued in vain. He grew angry; he called them names which
doubtless they deserved; he said that they were spiritual outcasts. By
this time, being frantic, his flock did not care what he said. Either
Menzi must come, they explained, or they would turn heathen. The Great
One in the sky could work as well through Menzi as through him, Tombool
or anybody else. Menzi _must_ come.

Thomas threatened to excommunicate them all, a menace which did not
amount to much as they were already excommunicating themselves, and when
they remained obstinate, told them that he would have nothing to do with
this rain-making business, which was unholy and repugnant to him. He
told them, moreover, that he was certain that their wickedness would
bring some judgment upon them, in which he proved to be right.

The end of it was that Menzi was summoned, and arrived with a triumphant
smile, saying that he was certain he could put everything in order, and
that soon they would have plenty of rain, that is, if they all attended
his invocations and made him presents suitable to so great an occasion.

The result was that they did attend them, man, woman and child, seated
in a circle in that same old kraal where the witch-doctor had so
marvellously shown pictures upon the smoke. Each of them also brought