. "Did
I not say she was a goddess? Is this Missie Ammal a goddess? Is she not
a mere woman like yourselves, only white?"

"_She_ also came from the bungalow," objected the woman rather feebly,
feeling public opinion against her.

"You oyster!" said the official politely, "because a Missie Ammal comes
from the bungalow, does it prove that the goddess was a Missie Ammal?"
The other women agreed with him, and snubbed the ignoramus, who retired
from the controversy.

The story was repeated with variations, such a mixture of the probable
with the improbable, not to say impossible, that one got tangled up in
it before he had got half through.

Just then an ancient Christian appeared on the scene and quavered in, in
the middle of the marvel, with words to the effect that our God was the
true God, and they ought to have faith in Him. It was not exactly _a
propos_ of anything they were discussing, but he seemed to think it the
right thing to say, and they accepted it as a customary remark, and went
on with their conversation. I asked the old worthy if he knew anything
about the story, and at first he denied it indignantly as savouring too
much of idolatry to be connected with the bungalow, but finally admitted
that once in the dim past he had heard that an Ammal in the bungalow,
who was ill and disturbed by the tom-toms at night, got up and went out
and tried to speak to the people. And the men, listening now to the old
man, threw in a word which illumined the whole, "It was a great
festival." I remembered that impaling stake, and understood it all. And
in a flash I saw it--the poor live beast--and heard its cries. They
would wring her heart as she heard them in the pauses of the tom-tom.
She was ill, but she got up and struggled out, and tried to stop it, I
am sure--tried, and failed.

Seven thousand miles away these things may seem trivial. Here, with that
grey stone pillar full in view, they are real.

I came back to the present. The women were still there, and more people
were gathering. Something was going to happen. Then a sudden burst of
tom-toms, and a banging and clanging of all manner of noise-producers,
and then a bullock coach drove up, a great gilded thing. It stopped in
front of the little house; someone got out; the people shouted, "Guru!
Great Guru! Lord Guru!" with wild enthusiasm.

The Guru was not poor. He had two carts laden with luggage--one item, a
green parrot in a cage. Close to the cage a small