After this the chorus was silent and Menzi himself took up the game, apparently asking questions of the sky and putting his ear to the ground for an answer. At length he announced: (1) That the thimble was not among the rocks; (2) That it was not lost at all. “But it is, it is, you silly old man,” cried Tabitha excitedly. “I have hunted everywhere, and I cried about it because I haven’t got another, and can’t buy one here, and the needle hurts my finger.” Menzi contemplated her gravely as though he were looking her through and through. “It is _not_ lost, Little Flower. I see it; you have it now. Put your hand into the pocket of your dress. What do you find there?” “Nothing,” said Tabitha. “That is, nothing except a hole.” “Feel at the bottom of your dress, there on the right. No, a little more to the front. What do you feel there?” “Something hard,” said Tabitha. “Take this knife and cut the lining of your dress where you feel the hard thing. Ah! there is the silver shield which you have been carrying about with you all these days.” The crowd murmured approval. Dorcas exclaimed: “Well, I never!” and Thomas looked first puzzled, then angry, then suspicious. “Does the Teacher think that the Floweret and the old doctor have made a plot together?” asked Menzi. “Can a sweet Flower make plots and tell lies like the old doctor? Well, well, it is nothing. Now let us try something better. My bags, my bags.” Thomas made as though he would go away, but Menzi stopped him, saying: “No, doubters must stay to see the end of their doubts. What shall I do? Ah! I have it.” Then from one of the bags he drew out a number of crooked black sticks that looked like bent ebony rulers, and built them up criss-cross in a little pile upon the ground. Next he found some bundles of fine dried grass, which he thrust into the interstices between the sticks, as he did so bidding one of his servants to run to the nearest hut and bring a coal of fire upon a sherd. “A match will not do,” he said. “White men have touched it.” Presently the burning ember arrived, and muttering something, Menzi blew upon it as though to keep it alight. “Now, White Teacher,” he said in a voice that had suddenly become commanding, “think of something. Think of what you will, and I will show it to you.” “Indeed,” said Thomas with a smile. “I have thought of something; now make good your words.” Menzi thrust the ember into the haylike fibres and blew. They caught and blazed up fiercely, making an extraordinarily large flame considering the small amount of the kindling. The ebony-like sticks also began to blaze. Menzi grew excited. “My Spirit, come to me; my Spirit, come to me!” he cried. “O my Spirit, show this White Teacher Tombool that I am not a cheat!” He ran round and round the fire; he leapt into the air, then suddenly shouted: “My Spirit has entered into me; my Snake is in my breast!”