sighed in the great boughs with a sound like the sighing of women.

"Still, I went on, singing to myself as I went, that my heart might

not be faint with fear, and at length, towards the end of the second

hour, the trees grew fewer, the ground sloped upwards, and the light

poured down from the heavens again. But, stranger, you are weary, and

the night wears on; sleep now, and to-morrow I will end the tale. Say,

"I am named Umslopogaas, son of Mopo," he answered, "and my tale shall

be told when yours is done; let us sleep!"