"Nay, O king! surely the Mother of the Heavens was maddened by the

Heavens when she sang that song," I answered. "I know nothing of it, O

"Thou knowest naught of it, Mopo?" said the king. And again he looked

at me terribly through the reek of the fire. "Thou knowest naught of

it, Mopo? Surely thou art a-cold; thy hands shake with cold. Nay, man,

fear not--warm them, warm them, Mopo. See, now, plunge that hand of

thine into the heart of the flame!" And he pointed with his little

assegai, the assegai handled with the royal wood, to where the fire