"It was an interestin' conclusion," said Bones, thoughtfully, "not without originality--when it first occurred to you, but as a conclusion, if you will pardon my criticism, sir, if you will forgive me for suggestin' as much--in callin' me an ass, sir: apart from its bein' contrary to the spirit an' letter of the Army Act--God Save the King!--it's a bit low, sir." And he left his superior officer without another word. For three days they sat at breakfast, tiffin and dinner, and neither said more than: "May I pass you the bread, sir?" "Thank you, sir; have you the salt, sir?" Hamilton was so busy a man that he might have forgotten the feud, but for the insistence of Bones, who never lost an opportunity of reminding his No. 1 that he was mortally hurt. One night, dinner had reached the stage where two young officers of Houssas sat primly side by side on the verandah sipping their coffee. Neither spoke, and the seance might have ended with the conventional "Good night" and that punctilious salute which Bones invariably gave, and which Hamilton as punctiliously returned, but for the apparition of a dark figure which crossed the broad space of parade ground hesitatingly as though not certain of his way, and finally came with dragging feet through Sanders' garden to the edge of the verandah. It was the figure of a small boy, very thin; Hamilton could see this through the half-darkness. The boy was as naked as when he was born, and he carried in his hand a single paddle. "O boy," said Hamilton, "I see you." "Wanda!" said the boy in a frightened tone, and hesitated, as though he were deciding whether it would be better to bolt, or to conclude his desperate enterprise. "Come up to me," said Hamilton, kindly. He recognized by the dialect that the visitor had come a long way, as indeed he had, for his old canoe was pushed up amongst the elephant grass a mile away from headquarters, and he had spent three days and nights upon the river. He came up, an embarrassed and a frightened lad, and stood twiddling his toes on the unaccustomed smoothness of the big stoep. "Where do you come from, and why have you come?" asked Hamilton. "Lord, I have come from the village of M'bisibi," said the boy; "my mother has sent me because she fears for her life, my father being away on a great hunt. As for me," he went on, "my name is Tilimi-N'kema." "Speak on, Tilimi the Monkey," said Hamilton, "tell me why the woman your mother fears for her life." The boy was silent for a spell; evidently he was trying to recall the exact formula which had been dinned into his unreceptive brain, and to repeat word for word the lesson which he had learned parrotwise.