One day while watching the unmistakable earnestness of the men at their toil, I turned to Kasagama and said: “King, your people are really enjoying their hard work.” He replied: “Oh no, my people have not yet arrived at liking work, but they are rejoicing because this is God’s house.” Pending the arrival of the Bishop, an informal dedication service was arranged on the first Sunday of its completion. The Church was packed from end to end, the men on one side led by their King, the women on the other with the Queen Damali. A great stillness fell on that large congregation as King Daudi, who scarcely ever takes an active part in the services, rose and offered up a prayer of Consecration. In it he said: “O God, we know Thou dwellest not in temples made with hands, but this House has been built with our hearts’ devotion; therefore come down and take up Thy dwelling place, that sinners entering may be saved by Thy presence.” Kasagama in his time has played several “parts.” Two days after the opening of the new Church, he was called upon to fill a position in a novel function for Toro, namely, the first European wedding. A great deal of excitement had prevailed for some time among the people, and whisperings of the unique event had filtered through to the villages, bringing a large number of people into the capital out of curiosity. It was a beautiful clear morning, and before sunrise the bride designate was needlessly reminded of the day by a loud shuffling and scurrying going on outside her calico window. The Katikiro’s loud baritone was heard commanding a regiment of workmen, and by way of creating an excitement in the proceedings, he accompanied his orders by eloquent aerial cracks with his whip of hippo hide. In order to have a share in the festive preparations they had come down to strew fresh cut grass all round the house, in the courtyard and along the road to the church. On the preceding days, the chiefs’ wives, headed by the Queen, had been with their spades levelling the mud floor in the scarcely completed church and carpeting it with soft green grass. It was a welcome substitute of nature for the customary red felt drugget, and no one would have exchanged for canvas awning the archway of palm leaves and bushy papyrus grass heads that adorned the verandah and porch leading from the house. All the Europeans in Toro were invited—they numbered five—and each had an allotted task. One performed the ceremony, another stood as best man, the organist pedalled away nobly at the portable baby organ and even persuaded it to produce the Wedding March creditably. There was one bridesmaid, and the fifth took the part of “guest.”