that he has it. Does not then follow the story of the fall of man, which made the island sink, that formerly protected Natal’s coast. . . . the history of Djiwa and the two brothers?”
“That is true. This legend—was no legend at all, it was a parable which I made, and which two hundred years hencewill be a legend if Krijgsman often relates it. Such has been the origin of all legends. Djiwa is ‘soul’ as you know. . . .”
“Max, what became of the little girl with the coral beads?” asked Tine.
“They had been laid aside. It was six o’clock, and there under the equator—Natal being a few minutes north of it [when I went on horseback to Ayer-Bangie, I made my horse walk over the equator, or almost walk; fearing I should fail over it]—it was six o’clock, a signal for evening thoughts. Now, I think that a man in the evening is always a little better, or less vicious, than in the morning—and that is natural. A Controller wipes his eyes, and dreads meeting an Assistant Resident, who assumes a foolish ascendency because he has been a few years more in the service; or has to measure fields that day, and is in doubt between his honestyyou do not know that, Duclari, because you are a military man; but there are indeed honest Controllersthen he is in doubt between that honesty and the fear that Radeen Demang So-and-so will desire to have that grey horse that ambles
