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.