When we fall that is our life. When wo
sink into tlie ground that is death, .m l
when we are drawn up again to the sky,
what is that, Macumnzahn? No! no! when
we find we lose, and when we seem to
lose, then we shall really find. I am not
a Christian, Macnmazahn, but 1 am old,
and have watched and seen things that
erhaps Christians do not see.
“There, 1 have spoken. Be happy with
your star, and if it sets, wait, Macuma
zahn, wait till it rises again. It will not
be long; one day you will go to sleep,
then your eyes will open on another sky,
and there your star will be shining, Ms
cumazahn.”
1 made no answer at the time. I could
not bear to talk of such a thing. But of
ten and often in the after years 1 have
thought of Indaba-zimhi and his beautiful
simile and gathered comfort from it. He
was a strange man, this old rain-making
savage, and there was more wisdom in
him than in many learned atheists—those
spiritual destroyers who. in the name of
progress and humanity, would divorce
hope from life, and leave us wandering in
a lonesome, self consecrated hell.
“Indaha-zimbi,” 1 said, changing the
subject, “I have something to say,” and
1 told him of the threats of Hemlrika.
He listened with an unmoved face, nod
ding his white lock at intervals as tlie nar
rative went on. Bull saw that he was
disturbed by it.
