That morning Nduna’s body was carried home. All the family and many friends were gathered together. They laid him on a pile of mats on the floor of the room, with his feet towards the door, and covered him completely with a coloured robe. As soon as I heard that the body had come I went to the house. While I was yet a great way from the town I heard the wail of their mourning dirge; that weird, unceasing cry of hopeless grief, which I had heard so often, but never before under such harrowing circumstances, and it smote upon my heart. As many as could enter the house were sitting on the floor and many on the ground outside. All the women who were in civilized dress had turned their clothes inside out as a sign of grief. Aruwi sat on the floor at Nduna’s head, piteously sobbing. As I entered the door they all stopped mourning and there was a deep silence. For once, in Africa, I felt that I could not speak. No words could do justice to that heartrending scene. I stood a long time before the covered body, as silent as themselves. At last I said: “Aruwi, I want to see Nduna’s face.” She turned down the covering and when I had looked at him a while I said: “It is a good face, Aruwi,—a beautiful face. Nduna was a good boy. You will not forget, Aruwi, that there was one white man who knew him and who loved him.” They remained silent as I withdrew, until I reached the end of the village street, and then again, they all began to chant the mourning dirge. When the members of the Gaboon Church die they are buried in the mission graveyard on Baraka hill. The reason of this concession on the part of the mission was probably to enable them to control the burial service of Christians that it might be a Christian and not a heathen ceremony. They regard it as a sacred privilege. Nduna was not a member in the church, and none but members had ever been buried at Baraka. But I broke the rule, and told Aruwi that, if she wished, Nduna would be buried at Baraka. And there we buried him that evening. The civilized Mpongwe have a funeral custom that I like. When the casket is lowered and immediately after the benediction, coming forward, they drop a handful of earth into the grave. It is a simple and affecting ceremony and has no superstitious significance. But during all my years at Gaboon there was no other funeral at which so many came forward in silence and dropped a handful of earth into the grave as they seemed to say: “Good-bye, Nduna; you suffered greatly; may you rest in peace.” [Illustration: BOJEDI, TEACHER OF FANG SCHOOL. _He frankly admits the superiority of the white man, but thinks that the black man is far better-looking._]