and looked at the
half-inebriated chief with contemptuous indifference.

The chief regarded him for a moment in silence, with the cup still
stretched, and then said, "Thou art right, Tifum; no Mtuta boy would
have had the courage to refuse a cup of pombe from a chief, nor regard
his future master with such a look. He is a fool, and stubborn as an
ass, truly. But I will tame him, or I will kill him. How Kalulu, the
nephew of Katalambula, will wonder at him! Why, he must be of the same
age as Kalulu; but Kalulu is taller and stronger; but I doubt if he has
this lad's high courage, though he is proud as if he were already king
of the Watuta. Kalulu would act differently from this youth if he were
in his place; he would have taken the pombe and then killed me as soon
as he had the opportunity. Ah! Kalulu is a true Mtuta. But here I am
with the cup still in my hand. If this boy will not drink it, perhaps
the others will. Here, you!" addressing himself to Abdullah, "drink,
young one. No? And you refuse it, too? Well, you smallest one," to
Mussoud. "Not even you? Strange youths! Dost thou speak their
language, Tifum?"

"A little, my chief."

"Ask this tallest one why will he not take this cup of pombe from the
hand of Ferodia, chief of the Watuta warriors."

"Boy," said Tifum, addressing Selim, "Ferodia, chief of the Watuta
warriors, demands to know why you will not accept the drink at his
hands."

"Then tell thy master," said Selim, without ever, turning his eyes
towards the man, "that I may not accept anything in kindness from his
hands, since he gives it to me while he believes me to be a slave. Tell
him I am not his slave, and never shall do his bidding save under
constant compulsion."

When Tifum had communicated this to his chief, Ferodia burst into
another loud laugh; then said:

"This boy is verily proud; but, Tifum, ask him to dance."

"Dance!" said Selim, when the order was communicated to him--"Dance!
when my heart is breaking, when my father lies dead and dishonoured
before yonder gates! Sooner would I die than obey!"

"Then tell him to sing," shouted Ferodia, laughing.

"Sing!" replied Selim. "How long, oh Allah! shall I suffer these
tortures? Sing! As well might you ask the dead to sing!"

"What, will he do nothing, then? I will wait until the marts of thy
rough hand have been cured, when I will make marks of my own on that
hide of his," said Ferodia, with a wrathful glance in