That match went out and I struck another, and at the sight of the sudden appearance of fire they stepped back a pace or two. At length one of them, pointing to the burning match, asked in the same tongue that was used by the Walloos, “What is that, O Stranger?” “Magic fire,” I answered, adding by an inspiration, “which I am bringing as a present to the great god Heu-Heu.” This information seemed to mollify them, for, lowering their spears, they turned to speak to another man who at this moment arrived upon the scene. He was a stout, fine-looking man of considerable presence, with a hooked nose and flashing black eyes. Also he wore a priestly cap upon his head and his white robes were broidered. “Very big fellow, this, Baas,” Hans whispered to me, and I nodded, observing as I did so that the other priests bowed as they addressed him. “Dacha in person,” thought I to myself, and sure enough Dacha it was. He advanced and, looking at the wax match, said: “Where does the magic fire of which you speak live, Stranger?” “In this case covered with holy secret writing,” I replied, holding before his eyes a box labelled “Wax Vestas, Made in England,” and adding solemnly, “Woe be to him that touches it or him that bears it without understanding, for it will surely leap forth and consume that foolish man, O Dacha.” Now Dacha followed the example of his companions and stepped back a little way, remarking, “How do you know my name, and who sends this present of self-conceiving fire to Heu-Heu?” “Is not the name of Dacha known to the ends of the earth?” I asked—a remark which seemed to please him very much; “yes, as far as his spells can travel, which is to the sky and back again. As to who sends the magic fire, it is a great one, a wizard of the best, if not quite so good as Dacha, who is named Zikali, who is named the ‘Opener-of-Roads,’ who is named ‘the Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born.’” “We have heard of him,” said Dacha. “His messengers were here in our fathers’ day. And what does Zikali want of us, O Stranger?” “He wants leaves of a certain tree that grows in Heu-Heu’s garden, that is called the Tree of Visions, that he may mix them with his medicines.” Dacha nodded and so did the other priests. Evidently they knew all about the Tree of Visions, as I, or rather Zikali, had named it. “Then why did he not come for them himself?” “Because he is old and infirm. Because he is detained by great affairs. Because it was easier for him to send me, who, being a lover of that which is holy, was anxious to do homage to Heu-Heu and to make the acquaintance of the great Dacha.” “I understand,” the priest replied, highly gratified, as his face shewed. “But how are you named, O Messenger of Zikali?”