and that he was so old that the sea and the land were not so old
as he.

"If this old man has made all things, why do not all things bow
down to him?"

My slave gave a grave look, and said, "All things say 'O' to
him."

"Where do the men in your land go when they die?"

"All go to Beek."

I then held my hand up to the sky to point to it, and said, "God
dwells there. He made the world, and all things in it. The moon
and the stars are the work of his hand. God sends the wind and
the rain on the earth, and the streams that flow: He hides the
face of the sky with clouds, makes the grass to grow for the
beasts of the field, and herbs for the use of man. God's love
knows no end. When we pray, He draws near to us and hears us."

It was a real joy to my poor slave to hear me talk of these
things. He sat still for a long time, then gave a sigh, and told
me that he would say "O" to Beek no more, for he was but a short
way off, and yet could not hear, till men went up the hill to
speak to him.

"Did you go up the hill to speak to him?" said I.

"No, Okes go up to Beek, not young mans."