“I know,” I answered. “I cannot understand it. Hullo! here comes Bastin.”
Bastin it was, dishevelled and looking much the worse for wear, also minus his Bible in the native tongue.
“Well, how have you been getting on?” said Bickley.
“I should like some tea, also anything there is to eat.”
We supplied him with these necessaries, and after a while he said slowly and solemnly:
“I cannot help thinking of a childish story which Bickley told or invented one night at your house at home. I remember he had an argument with my wife, which he said put him in mind of it, I am sure I don’t know why. It was about a monkey and a parrot that were left together under a sofa for a long while, where they were so quiet that everybody forgot them. Then the parrot came out with only one feather left in its tail and none at all on its body, saying, ‘I’ve had no end of a time!’ after which it dropped down and died. Do you know, I feel just like that parrot, only I don’t mean to die, and I think I gave the monkey quite as good as he gave me!”
“What happened?” I asked, intensely interested.
“Oh! the Glittering Lady took me into that palace hall where Oro was sitting like a spider in a web, and left me there. I got to work at once. He was much interested in the Old Testament stories and said there were points of truth about them, although they had evidently come down to the modern writer—he called him a _modern_ writer—in a legendary form. I thought his remarks impertinent and with difficulty refrained from saying so. Leaving the story of the Deluge and all that, I spoke of other matters, telling him of eternal life and Heaven and Hell, of which the poor benighted man had never heard. I pointed out especially that unless he repented, his life, by all accounts, had been so wicked, that he was certainly destined to the latter place.”
“Do you know, I think it frightened him, if one could imagine Oro being frightened. At any rate he remarked that the truth or falsity of what I said was an urgent matter for him, as he could not expect to live more than a few hundred years longer, though perhaps he might prolong the period by another spell of sleep. Then he asked me why I thought him so wicked. I replied because he himself said that he had drowned millions of people, which showed an evil heart and intention even if it were not a fact. He thought a long while and asked what could be done in the circumstances. I replied that repentance and reparation were the only courses open to him.”