about him suspiciously, with a cautious glance, as
he walked round and round the sacred tree he guarded so continually.
There was something weird and awful in the sight of that savage god, thus
condemned by his own superstition and the custom of his people to tramp
ceaselessly up and down before the sacred banyan.

At sight of Felix, however, a sudden burst of frenzy seemed to possess at
once all Tu-Kila-Kila's limbs. He brandished his spear violently, and set
himself spasmodically in a posture of defence. His brow grew black, and
his eyes darted out eternal hate and suspicion. It was evident he
expected an instant attack, and was prepared with all his might and main
to resist aggression. Yet he never offered to desert his post by the tree
or to assume the offensive. Clearly, he was guarding the sacred grove
itself with jealous care, and was as eager for its safety as for his own
life and honor.

Felix passed on, wondering what it all could mean, and turned with an
inquiring glance to his trembling Shadow. As for Toko, he had held his
face averted meanwhile, lest he should behold the great god, and be
scorched to a cinder; but in answer to Felix's mute inquiry he murmured
low: "Was Tu-Kila-Kila there? Were all things right? Was he on guard at
his post by the tree already?"

"Yes," Felix replied, with that weird sense of mystery creeping over him
now more profoundly than ever. "He was on guard by the tree and he looked
at me angrily."

"Ah," the Shadow remarked, with a sigh of regret, "he keeps watch well.
It will be hard work to assail him. No god in Boupari ever held his place
so tight. Who wishes to take Tu-Kila-Kila's divinity must get up early."

They went on in silence to the little volcanic knoll near the centre of
the island. There, in the neat garden plot they had observed before, a
man, in the last relics of a very tattered European costume, much covered
with a short cape of native cloth, was tending his flowers and singing to
himself merrily. His back was turned to them as they came up. Felix
paused a moment, unseen, and caught the words the stranger was singing:

"Tres jolie,
Peu polie,
Possedant un gros magot;
Fort en gueule,
Pas begueule;
Telle etait--"

The stranger looked up, and paused in the midst of his lines,
open-mouthed. For a moment he stood and stared astonished. Then, raising
his native cap with a graceful air, and bowing low, as he would have
bowed to a lady on the Boulevard, he