It is only fair to admit that Gran'pa had a very strong case. He pointed out that we should never overcome the initial difficulty caused by the unsociableness of the male gorilla, who sought food and shelter only in the company of a few wives and children. Unhandicapped, too, by any housing problems, the brute moved from spot to spot at will, and seemed seldom to visit the same place twice in succession. It also preferred the gloomiest, unhealthiest and most inaccessible parts of the jungle. Taking all these facts into consideration, had we not been extraordinarily lucky? What other body of men could have captured over twenty full grown gorillas in such a short time? "Supposing," said Gran'pa, "that the news was flashed through to civilization at this moment. How many people do you think would believe it? I'm convinced that we've accomplished little short of a miracle. Let us be grateful, then, and not ruin everything by a spirit of overreaching greed." I asked precisely what he intended doing. "I shall explain matters fully," he replied, easily. "Then I shall suggest the drawing of lots. There will be white beans for the gorillas, and red beans for . . . those who are compelled to end their lives naturally." As if this were the solution of the simplest problem imaginable, Gran'pa rose to his feet and announced: "We'll weigh anchor to-morrow, gentlemen! Meanwhile, I'll go and see Captain Morgan." Thus did our sojourn in Corisco draw to its inevitable close, and when the dawn came we crept aboard "The Pilgrim Father" with sorrow in our hearts. Most of us wanted to go--and yet we didn't. Molly was particularly reluctant to leave. "I do think it's a shame!" she said, tearfully. "Must we go to-day, Charles?" pleaded Sally Rebecca. "Alas!" murmured Gran'pa. "We must, my dear! . . . Time is always on the wing. It waits for no one. And, here, our task is finished. . . ." I leant over the deck rail and gazed pensively at the white cliffs rising from the blue green sea. Corisco the Beautiful! The romance of the happy days which we had spent there awoke tender memories and we were filled with the sadness of parting farewells. Obongi broke down completely, as did many of the other negroes. Even the missionaries and their wives could not conceal their grief. Molly had been to them everything that Gran'pa had prophesied--a ray of light in a dark world of ignorance and superstition; a link with "old times;" a glimpse of all they had left behind them in the countries of the civilized; a spirit of feminine youthfulness and abandon--such as is only understood and tolerated by the whites. "When you come to England," said Molly to the Rev. William Watkins, "you'll bring Joey, _won't you_?" Joey was her white-haired old "nigger man"--her particular pet--her swimming instructor--her bodyguard--her right hand. . . . "Certainly, I will, if possible," he answered. "Daddy will pay for his fare to London," she explained.