"That's my dinky little religion, dear old Miss Hamilton," said Bones. "I'd have gone into the Church only I hadn't enough--enough----" "Brains?" suggested Hamilton. "Call is the word," said Bones. "I wasn't called--or if I was I was out--haw-haw! That's a rippin' little bit of persiflage, Miss Hamilton?" "Be serious, Bones," said the girl; "you mustn't joke about things." She put him through a cross-examination to discover the extent of his convictions. In self-defence Bones, with only the haziest idea of the doctrine he defended, summarily dismissed certain of Miss Hamilton's most precious beliefs. "But, Bones," she persisted, "if I asked you to change----" Bones shook his head. "Dear old friend," he said solemnly, "there are two things I'll never do--alter the faith of my distant but happy youth, or listen to one disparagin' word about the jolliest old sister that ever----" "That will do, Bones," she said, with dignity. "I can see that you don't like me as I thought you did--what do you think, Mr. Sanders?" Sanders smiled. "I can hardly judge--you see," he added apologetically, "I'm a Wesleyan too." "Oh!" said Patricia, and fled in confusion. Bones rose in silence, crossed to his chief and held out his hand. "Brother," he said brokenly. "What the devil are you doing?" snarled Sanders. "Spoken like a true Christian, dear old Excellency and sir," murmured Bones. "We'll bring her back to the fold." He stepped nimbly to the door, and the serviette ring that Sanders threw with unerring aim caught his angular shoulder as he vanished. That same night Sanders had joyful news to impart. He came into the Residency to find Bones engaged in mastering the art of embroidery under the girl's tuition. Sanders interrupted what promised to be a most artistic execution. "Who says a joy-ride to the upper waters of the Isisi?" Hamilton jumped up. "Joy-ride?" he said, puzzled. Sanders nodded. "We leave to-morrow for the Lesser Isisi to settle a religious palaver--Bucongo of the Lesser Isisi is getting a little too enthusiastic a Christian, and Ahmet has been sending some queer reports. I've been putting off the palaver for weeks, but Administration says it has no objection to my making a picnic of duty--so we'll all go." "Tri-umph!" said Hamilton. "Bones, leave your needlework and go overhaul the stores." Bones, kneeling on a chair, his elbows on the table, looked up. "As jolly old Francis Drake said when the Spanish Armada----" "To the stores, you insubordinate beggar!" commanded Hamilton, and Bones made a hurried exit. The accommodation of the _Zaire_ was limited, but there was the launch, a light-draught boat which was seldom used except for tributary work. "I could put Bones in charge of the _Wiggle_," he said, "but he'd be pretty sure to smash her up. Miss Hamilton will have my cabin, and you and I could take the two smaller cabins."