son," returned poor
little Madame Zeppa, with a sob.

"True; but that was in the hurry of the rising, and without orders from
Rosco, as far as I know. Besides, mother, have you not often told me
that God will never forsake His own children? Surely, then, He will not
forsake father."

"No, oh, no! the good Lord will never forsake him. He will certainly
deliver his soul from sin and death; but God sometimes sees fit to allow
the bodies of His children to suffer and die. It may be so now."

"Yes, mother, but also it may _not_ be so now. Let us take a hopeful
view, and do what we can to find out--to find--to--"

Poor Orlando broke down here, laid his head on his little mother's
shoulder, and wept for his mind had suddenly run itself blank. What was
there to find out? what could they do? Nothing, absolutely nothing,
except pray; and they did that fervently.

Then Orley went out to consult again with his friends. Alas! there was
no other outlet for their grief, save prayer and consultation, for
action was, in the circumstances, impossible.

"Bin t'ink, t'inkin' horroble hard all last night. Couldn' sleep a
wink," said Ebony one day, some weeks after the return of Orlando, when,
according to custom, he and the native missionary and his wife, with the
chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee, assembled for a consultation in the
palm-grove.

"What have you been thinking about?" asked Orley.

"Yous fadder, ob course."

"Of course," repeated the boy, "but what have you been thinking about
him--anything new?"

"Not zackly noo," returned the negro, with a very earnest look, "but ole
t'oughts turned in a noo d'rection. Sit down, Tomeo, an' I will tell
you--an' try to forgit yous hat if poss'ble. It's 'xtroarnar good
lookin', a'most as much good lookin' as yousself, so you got no occashin
to be always t'inkin' about it."

We may remark here that both Tomeo and Buttchee understood a little of
Ebony's English, though they could not speak a word. The reader will
understand, therefore, that when we put words in their mouths we only
give a free translation of their language. In like manner Ebony
understood a little of the Ratinga tongue, but could not speak much of
it, and Waroonga, who himself spoke uncommonly bad, though fluent,
English, interpreted when necessary.

"Well, you mus' know," said Ebony, "dat jus before I goes to bed las'
night I heat a little too much supper--"

"You doos that every night" interrupted Buttch