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“No,” answered Tabitha, “because I was afraid I should be scolded.”

“There, Imba, there, Little Flower, even that is too much, because you see the old cheat might guess something from your words. Yes, he might guess that it is something of value that you have lost, such as a bracelet of gold, or the thing that ticks, on which you white people read the time. Nay, be silent and do not let your face move lest I should read it. Now let us see what it is that you have lost.”

Then he turned to his confederates, as Thomas called them, and began to ask them questions which need not be set out in detail. Was it an animal that the Little Flower had lost? No, it was not an animal, the Spirits told him that it was not. Was it an article of dress? No, they did not think it was an article of dress, yet the Spirits seemed to suggest that it had something to do with dress. Was it a shoe? Was it scissors? Was it a comb? Was it a needle? No, but it was something that had to do with needles. What had to do with needles? Thread. Was it thread? No, but something that had to do with thread. Was it a silver shield which pushed the needle that drew the thread?

Here Tabitha could contain herself no longer, but clapped her hands and cried out delightedly:

“Yes, that’s it. It’s my thimble.”

“Oh! very well,” said Menzi, “but it is easy to discover what is lost and hard to find it.”

Then followed another long examination of the assessors or acolytes, or witch-doctor’s chorus, by which it was established at length that the thimble had been lost three days before, when Tabitha was sitting on a stone sewing, that she believed it had fallen into a crevice of rocks, and so forth.

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.