At least, this is the story which Hamilton retailed at breakfast one morning. Sanders, appealed to for confirmation, admitted cautiously that he had heard the legend, but did not trouble to make an investigation. "The art of governing a native country," he said, "is the art of not asking questions." "But suppose you want to know something?" demanded Patricia. "Then," said Sanders, with a twinkle in his eyes, "you must pretend that you know." "What is there to do to-day?" asked Hamilton, rolling his serviette. He addressed himself to Lieutenant Tibbetts, who, to Sanders's intense annoyance, invariably made elaborate notes of all the Commissioner said. "Nothin' until this afternoon, sir," said Bones, closing his notebook briskly, "then we're doin' a little deep-sea fishin'." The girl made a grimace. "We didn't catch anything yesterday, Bones," she objected. "We used the wrong kind of worm," said Bones confidently. "I've found a new worm nest in the plantation. Jolly little fellers they are, too." "What are we doing to-day, Bones?" repeated Hamilton ominously. Bones puckered his brows. "Deep-sea fishin', dear old officer and comrade," he repeated, "an' after dinner a little game of tiddly-winks--Bones _v._ jolly old Hamilton's sister, for the championship of the River an' the Sanders Cup." Hamilton breathed deeply, but was patient. "Your King and your country," he said, "pay you seven and eightpence per diem----" "Oh," said Bones, a light dawning, "you mean _work_?" "Strange, is it not," mused Hamilton, "that we should consider----Hullo!" They followed the direction of his eyes. A white bird was circling groggily above the plantation, as though uncertain where to alight. There was weariness in the beat of its wings, in the irregularity of its flight. Bones leapt over the rail of the verandah and ran towards the square. He slowed down as he came to a place beneath the bird, and whistled softly. Bones's whistle was a thing of remarkable sweetness--it was his one accomplishment, according to Hamilton, and had neither tune nor rhyme. It was a succession of trills, rising and falling, and presently, after two hesitating swoops, the bird rested on his outstretched hand. He came back to the verandah and handed the pigeon to Sanders. The Commissioner lifted the bird and with gentle fingers removed the slip of thin paper fastened to its leg by a rubber band. Before he opened the paper he handed the weary little servant of the Government to an orderly. "Lord, this is Sombubo," said Abiboo, and he lifted the pigeon to his cheek, "and he comes from the Ochori." Sanders had recognized the bird, for Sombubo was the swiftest, the wisest, and the strongest of all his messengers, and was never dispatched except on the most critical occasions. He smoothed the paper and read the letter, which was in Arabic. "From the servant of God Bosambo, in the Ochori City, to Sandi, where-the-sea-runs.