IV
When Menzi and his company had departed, vanishing round the corner of
the koppie, Thomas again asked the Chief where they were to sleep, an
urgent matter as darkness was now approaching.
Kosa answered with his usual vagueness that he supposed in the hut
where the late Teacher had died after the mission-house was burnt
down. So they trekked on a little way, passing beneath the shelf of
rock that has been mentioned as projecting from that side of the
koppie which overhung the stream, where there was just room for a
wagon to travel between the cliff and the water.
"What a dark road," said Dorcas, and one of the Christian natives who
understood some English, having been the body-servant of the late
missionary--it was he with the accordion--replied in Zulu:
"Yes, Lady; this rock is called the Rock of Evildoers, because once
those accused of witchcraft and others were thrown from it by the
order of the King, to be eaten by the crocodiles in that pool. But,"
he added, brightening up, "do not be afraid, for there are no more
Zulu kings and we have hunted away the crocodiles, though it is true
that there are still plenty of wizards who ought to be thrown from the
rock," and he looked over his shoulder in the direction Menzi had
taken, adding in a low voice, "You have just seen the greatest of
them, Lady."
"How horrible!" said Dorcas for the second time.
A few yards farther on they emerged from this tunnel-like roadway and
found themselves travelling along the northern face of the koppie.
Here, surrounded by a fence, stood the Chief's kraal, and just outside
of it a large, thatched hut with one or two smaller huts at its back.
It was a good hut of its sort, being built after the Basuto fashion
with a projecting roof and a doorway, and having a kind of verandah
floored with beaten lime.
"This was the Teacher's house," said Kosa as the wagon halted.
"I should like to look inside it at once," remarked Dorcas doubtfully,
adding, "Why, what's that?" and she pointed to a suspicious-looking,
oblong mound that was covered with weeds, over which she had almost
stumbled.
"That is the grave of the late Teacher, Lady. We buried him here
because Menzi's people took up the bones of those who were in the
churchyard and threw them into the river," explained Kosa.
Dorcas looked as though she were going to faint, but Thomas, rising to
the occasion, remarked:
"Come on, dear. The dead are always with us, and what better company
could we have than the dust of our sainted predecessor."
"I would rather have his room," murmured Dorcas, and gathering herself
together, proceeded to the hut.
Somebody opened the door with difficulty, and as it seemed to be very
dark within Thomas struck a match, by the light of which Dorcas peered
into the interior. Next second she fell back into his arms with a
little scream.
"Take me away!" she said. "The place is full of rats."
He stared; it was quite true. There, sitting up upon the dead
missionary's bed, was a singularly large rat that did not seem in the
least frightened by their appearance, whilst other creatures of the
same tribe scuttled about the floor and up the walls.
Dorcas slept, or did not sleep, that night in the wagon with Tabitha,
while Thomas took his rest beneath it as well as a drizzling rain that
was falling would allow.
Such was the beginning of the life of the Bull family in Sisa-Land,
not an encouraging beginning, it will be admitted, though no worse and
perhaps much better than that which many missionaries and their
families are called upon to face in various regions of the earth. What
horror is there that missionaries have not been called upon to endure?
St. Paul tells us of his trials, but they are paralleled, if not
surpassed, even in the present day.
Missionaries, however good, may not always be wise folk; the reader
might even think the Rev. Thomas Bull to be no perfect embodiment of
wisdom, sympathy or perhaps manners, but taking them as a class they
are certainly heroic folks, who endure many things for small reward,
as we reckon reward. In nothing perhaps do they show their heroism and
faith more greatly than in their persistent habit of conveying women
and young children into the most impossible places of the earth, there
to suffer many things, not exclusive, occasionally, of martyrdom. At
least the Protestant section of their calling does this; the Roman
Catholics are wiser. In renouncing marriage these save themselves from
many agonies, and having only their own lives and health at stake, are
perhaps better fitted to face rough work in rough places.
Even Thomas Bull, not a particularly sensitive person, was tempted
more than once to arrive at similar conclusions during his period of
service in Sisa-land, although neither he nor his wife or child was
called upon to face the awful extremities that have confronted others
of his cloth; for instance, another Thomas, one Owen, who was a
missionary in Zululand at the time when Dingaan, the King, massacred
Retief and his Boers beneath his eyes.
On the following morning Thomas crept out from beneath his wagon, not
refreshed, it is true, but filled with a renewed and even more fiery
zeal. During those damp hours of unrest he had reflected much and
brought the whole position into perspective, a clear if a narrow
perspective. The Chief with whom he had to deal evidently was a fool,
if not an imbecile, and the Christians who remained after a generation
of teaching were for the most part poor creatures, the weak-kneed
amongst this mixed-blood tribe, probably those of the milder Basuto
origin.
Such strength as remained in the people, who were, after all, but a
dwindling handful marooned in a distant spot, was to be found among
those of the old Zulu stock. They were descendants of the men sent by
the Kings Chaka and Dingaan to keep an eye upon the humble Basuto
slaves, whose duty it was to herd the royal cattle, the men, too, to
whom was entrusted the proud but hateful business of carrying out the
execution of persons that, for one reason or another, it was not
desirable to kill at home.
The individuals detailed for these duties were for the most part of
high blood, inconvenient persons, perhaps, whom it was desired to move
to a distance. Thus, as Thomas Bull soon learned, Menzi was said to be
no less a man than the grandson of the King Dingaan himself, one whose
father had developed troublesome ambitions, but whose life had been
spared because his mother was a favourite with the King.
Hence some of the grandson's pride, which was enhanced by the fact
that in his youth he had been trained in medicine and magic by a
certain Zikali, alias "Opener-of-Roads," who was said to have been the
greatest witch-doctor that ever lived in Zululand, and through him had
acquired, or perhaps developed inherent psychic gifts, that were in
any case considerable.
In the end, however, he had returned to his petty tribe, neglecting
larger opportunities, as Thomas learned, because of some woman to whom
he was attached at home. It seemed, however, that he might as well
have stayed away, since on his arrival he found that this woman had
become one of the Chief's wives, for which reason he afterwards killed
that Chief, Kosa's father, and possessed himself of the woman, who
died immediately afterwards, as Menzi suspected by poisoning. It was
principally for this reason that he hated Kosa, his enemy's son, and
all who clung to him; and partly because of that hatred and the fear
that it engendered Kosa and his people had turned Christian, hoping to
protect themselves thus against Menzi and his wizardries. Also for
this dead woman's sake, Menzi had never married again.
Thomas did not learn all these details, and others that need not be
mentioned, at once, but by the time he crept out from under that wagon
he had guessed enough to show that he was face to face with a very
tough proposition, and being the man he was, he girded his loins to
meet it, vowing that he would conquer Menzi or die in the attempt.
That very morning he called a council of the Christians and set to
work with a will. The first thing to do was to make the late
missionary's huts habitable, which did not take long, and the next to
commence the rebuilding of the church. Thomas, true to his principles,
insisted on beginning with the church and letting the mission-house
stand over, although Dorcas, small blame to her, complained at being
obliged to live for an indefinite time in a hut like a Kaffir woman.
However, as usual, she was obliged to give way.
As it chanced, here there was little difficulty about building
operations, for stone and wood and /tambuki/ grass for thatching were
all at hand in plenty. Also the Basuto section of the Sisa, as is
common among that race, were clever masons and carpenters, some of
them having followed those trades in Natal and the more settled places
in Zululand, where dwellings had to be erected. Moreover, they
possessed wagons, and now that the dry season was approaching were
able to fetch stores of every kind from the borders of Natal. Lastly,
thanks to Dorcas's banking account, money was by comparison no object,
an unusual circumstance where missionaries are concerned.
So all the week Thomas laboured at these matters and at making himself
acquainted with his congregation, and all Sunday he held open-air
services or taught in the ruins of the old church.
Thus in the midst of so many new interests matters went on not
uncomfortably, and Dorcas became more or less reconciled to her life.
Still she could never get over her loathing of the place which she
believed to be ill-omened, perhaps because of its gloomy aspect,
coupled with the name of the river and the uses to which it had been
put, after all not so very long ago. Naturally, also, this distaste
was accentuated by the unlucky circumstances of their arrival.
Tabitha, too, was really happy, since she loved this wild free life,
and having been brought up amongst Kaffirs and talking their language
almost as well as she did her own, soon she made many friends.
Perhaps it was a sense that the information would not be well received
by her father that prevented her from mentioning that the greatest of
those friends was the old witch-doctor, Menzi, whom she often met when
she was rambling about the place. Or it may have been pure accident,
since Thomas was too busy to bother about such trifles, while her
mother, who of course knew, kept her own counsel. The truth is that
though he was a heathen witch-doctor, Dorcas liked old Menzi better
than any other native in the district, because she said, quite truly,
that he was a gentleman, however sinful and hard-hearted he might be.
Moreover, with a woman's perception she felt that if only he were a
friend, at a pinch he might be worth all the others put together,
while if he were an enemy, conversely the same applied.
So it came about that in the end there arose a very strange state of
affairs. Menzi hated Thomas and did all he could to thwart him. He
liked Dorcas and did all he could to help her, while the child Tabitha
he came to worship, for some reason he never revealed, which was
hidden in the depths of his secret soul; indeed ere long had she been
his own daughter he could not have loved her more. It was he who
amongst many other things gave her the pretty carved walking-stick of
black and white /umzimbeet/ wood, also the two young blue cranes and
the kid that afterwards were such pets of hers, and with them the
beautiful white feathers of a cock ostrich that had been killed on the
veld. In the same way it was he who sent milk and eggs to Dorcas when
she was at her wits' end for both, which more than once were found
mysteriously at the door of their hut, and not any of his Christian
flock, as Thomas fondly imagined.
Thus things went on for a while.
Meanwhile Thomas found this same Menzi a stumbling-block and a rock of
offence. Whenever he tried to convert man, woman, or child he was
confronted with Menzi or the shadow of Menzi. Thus those with whom he
was arguing would ask him why he could not work miracles like Menzi.
Let him show them pictures in the fire, or tell them who had stolen
their goods or where they would find their strayed cattle, and perhaps
they would believe him. And so forth.
At length Thomas grew exasperated and announced publicly that he
credited nothing of this magic, and that Menzi was only a common cheat
who threw dust into their eyes. If Menzi could perform marvels, let
him show these marvels to him, Thomas, and to his wife, that they
might judge of them for themselves.
Apparently this challenge was repeated to the witch-doctor. At least
one morning a few days later, when Thomas went out accompanied by
Dorcas and Tabitha, to meet the Chief Kosa and others and to discuss
with them whether ultimately the mission-house should be rebuilt upon
the old site or elsewhere, he found a great concourse of people, all
or nearly all the tribe indeed, assembled on a level place where in
the old days stood one of the great kraals designed to hold the king's
cattle. Out of the crowd emerged Kosa, looking rather sillier than
usual, and of him Thomas inquired why it was gathered. Was it to
consult with him about the mission-house?
"No, Teacher," answered the Chief, "Menzi has heard that you call him
a cheat, and has come to show that he is none, assembling all the
people that they may judge between you and him."
"I do not want to see his tricks," said Thomas angrily. "Tell him to
go away."
"Oh, Teacher!" replied Kosa, "that would not be wise, for then
everyone would believe that Menzi's magic is so great that you are
afraid even to look upon it. It is better to let him try. Perhaps if
you pray hard he will fail, for his spirits will not always come when
he calls them."
Thomas hesitated, then, being bold by nature, determined that he would
see the thing through. After all, Menzi was an impostor and nothing
else, and could work no more magic than he could himself. Here was a
providential opportunity to expose him. So followed by the others he
advanced into the crowd, which made way for him.
In an open space in its centre, sat Menzi wearing all his witch-
doctor's trappings, bladders in his hair, snakeskins tied about him,
and the rest, but even in this grotesque attire still managing to look
dignified. With him were several acolytes or attendants, one of them
an old woman, also peculiarly arrayed and carrying hide bags that
contained their master's medicines. He rose as they came, saluted
Thomas and smiled at Dorcas and Tabitha, very sweetly at the latter.
"O Teacher," he said, "my ears hear that you say that I am a liar and
a cheat who have no wonders at my command; to whom the Spirits never
speak and who deceives the people. Now, Teacher, I have come here that
it may be seen whether you are right or I am right. If your magic is
greater than mine, then I can do nothing and I will eat the dust
before you. But if mine prevails, then perhaps all these will say that
you are the cheat, not I. Also it is true that I am not a great
magician as was my master, Zikali, the Opener-of-Roads, and cannot
show you things worthy to be seen. Nor will I smell out evil-doers,
witches and wizards, since then the people might kill them, and I
think that there are some here who deserve to die in the ancient
fashion. No, I will not do this, since it is not right that those with
you," here he glanced at Dorcas and Tabitha, "should look upon the
sight of blood, even in this land where the White-man's law has no
power. Still there are little things that may serve to amuse you for
an hour and hurt no one. Have any of you lost anything, for instance?"
"Yes, I have," said Tabitha with a laugh.
"Is it so, Little Flower? Then be silent and do not say what you have
lost. Have you told any what you have lost?"
"No," answered Tabitha, "because I was afraid I should be scolded."
"There, /Imba/, there, Little Flower, even that is too much, because
you see the old cheat might guess something from your words. Yes, he
might guess that it is something of value that you have lost, such as
a bracelet of gold, or the thing that ticks, on which you white people
read the time. Nay, be silent and do not let your face move lest I
should read it. Now let us see what it is that you have lost."
Then he turned to his confederates, as Thomas called them, and began
to ask them questions which need not be set out in detail. Was it an
animal that the Little Flower had lost? No, it was not an animal, the
Spirits told him that it was not. Was it an article of dress? No, they
did not think it was an article of dress, yet the Spirits seemed to
suggest that it had something to do with dress. Was it a shoe? Was it
scissors? Was it a comb? Was it a needle? No, but it was something
that had to do with needles. What had to do with needles? Thread. Was
it thread? No, but something that had to do with thread. Was it a
silver shield which pushed the needle that drew the thread?
Here Tabitha could contain herself no longer, but clapped her hands
and cried out delightedly:
"Yes, that's it. It's my thimble."
"Oh! very well," said Menzi, "but it is easy to discover what is lost
and hard to find it."
Then followed another long examination of the assessors or acolytes,
or witch-doctor's chorus, by which it was established at length that
the thimble had been lost three days before, when Tabitha was sitting
on a stone sewing, that she believed it had fallen into a crevice of
rocks, and so forth.
After this the chorus was silent and Menzi himself took up the game,
apparently asking questions of the sky and putting his ear to the
ground for an answer.
At length he announced: (1) That the thimble was not among the rocks;
(2) That it was not lost at all.
"But it is, it is, you silly old man," cried Tabitha excitedly. "I
have hunted everywhere, and I cried about it because I haven't got
another, and can't buy one here, and the needle hurts my finger."
Menzi contemplated her gravely as though he were looking her through
and through.
"It is /not/ lost, Little Flower. I see it; you have it now. Put your
hand into the pocket of your dress. What do you find there?"
"Nothing," said Tabitha. "That is, nothing except a hole."
"Feel at the bottom of your dress, there on the right. No, a little
more to the front. What do you feel there?"
"Something hard," said Tabitha.
"Take this knife and cut the lining of your dress where you feel the
hard thing. Ah! there is the silver shield which you have been
carrying about with you all these days."
The crowd murmured approval. Dorcas exclaimed: "Well, I never!" and
Thomas looked first puzzled, then angry, then suspicious.
"Does the Teacher think that the Floweret and the old doctor have made
a plot together?" asked Menzi. "Can a sweet Flower make plots and tell
lies like the old doctor? Well, well, it is nothing. Now let us try
something better. My bags, my bags."
Thomas made as though he would go away, but Menzi stopped him, saying:
"No, doubters must stay to see the end of their doubts. What shall I
do? Ah! I have it."
Then from one of the bags he drew out a number of crooked black sticks
that looked like bent ebony rulers, and built them up criss-cross in a
little pile upon the ground. Next he found some bundles of fine dried
grass, which he thrust into the interstices between the sticks, as he
did so bidding one of his servants to run to the nearest hut and bring
a coal of fire upon a sherd.
"A match will not do," he said. "White men have touched it."
Presently the burning ember arrived, and muttering something, Menzi
blew upon it as though to keep it alight.
"Now, White Teacher," he said in a voice that had suddenly become
commanding, "think of something. Think of what you will, and I will
show it to you."
"Indeed," said Thomas with a smile. "I have thought of something; now
make good your words."
Menzi thrust the ember into the haylike fibres and blew. They caught
and blazed up fiercely, making an extraordinarily large flame
considering the small amount of the kindling. The ebony-like sticks
also began to blaze. Menzi grew excited.
"My Spirit, come to me; my Spirit, come to me!" he cried. "O my
Spirit, show this White Teacher Tombool that I am not a cheat!"
He ran round and round the fire; he leapt into the air, then suddenly
shouted: "My Spirit has entered into me; my Snake is in my breast!"
All his excitement went; he grew quite calm, almost cataleptic.
Holding his thin hands over the fire, slowly he let them fall, and as
he did so the fierce flames died down.
"It's going out," said Tabitha.
Menzi smiled at her and lifted his hands again. Lo! the fire that
seemed to be dead leapt up after them in a fierce blaze. Again he
dropped his hands and the fire died away. Then he moved his arms to
and fro and it came back, following the motions of his arms as though
he drew it by a string.
"Have you thought, White Teacher? Have you thought?" he asked. "Good!
Arise, smoke!"
Behold, instead of the clear flame appeared a fan-shaped column of
dense white smoke, behind which Menzi vanished, all except his
outstretched hands.
"Look on to the smoke, White people, and do you, Little Flower, tell
me what you see there," he called from behind this vaporous veil.
Tabitha stared, they all stared. Then she cried out:
"I see a room, I see an old man in a clergyman's coat reading a
letter. Why, it is the Dean whom we used to know in Natal. There's the
wart on his nose and the tuft of hair that hangs down over his eye,
and he's reading a letter written by Father. I know the writing. It
begins, 'My dear Dean, Providence has appointed me to a strange
place'----"
"Is that what you see also, Teacher?" asked Menzi. "And if so, is it
what you pictured in your thought?"
Thomas turned away and uttered something like a groan, for indeed he
had thought of the Dean and of the letter he had written to him a
month before.
"The Teacher is not satisfied," said Menzi. "If he had seen all he
thought of, being so good and honest, he would tell us. There is some
mistake. My Spirit must have deceived me. Think of something else,
Teacher, and tell the lady, and the child Imba, and Kosa, and another,
what it is you are thinking of. Go aside and tell them where I cannot
hear."
Thomas did so--in some way he felt compelled to do so.
"I am going to think of the church as I propose it shall be when
finished according to the plans I have made," he said hoarsely. "I am
going to think of it with a belfry spire roofed with red tiles and a
clock in the tower, and I am going to think of the clock as pointing
to the exact hour of noon. Do you all understand? It is impossible
that this man should know of how I mean to build that spire and about
the clock, because until this moment no one knew except myself. If he
can show me that, I shall begin to believe that he is inspired by his
master, the devil. Do you all understand?"
They said they did, and Menzi called out:
"Be quick, White Teacher. Be quick, I grow tired. My Spirit grows
tired. The smoke grows tired. Come, come, come!"
They returned and stood in front of the fire, and in obedience to
Menzi's motions once more the fan of smoke arose. On it grew something
nebulous, something uncertain that by degrees took the form of a
church. It was not very clear, perhaps because Thomas found it
difficult to conceive the exact shape of the church as it would be
when it was finished, or only conceived it bit by bit. One thing,
however, was very distinct in his mind, and that was the proposed
spire and the clock. As a result, there was the spire standing at the
end of the shadowy church vivid and distinct. And there was the clock
with its two copper hands exactly on the stroke of noon!
"Tell me what you see, Little Flower," said Menzi in a hollow voice.
"I see what Father told me he would think of, a church and the spire
of the church, and the clock pointing to twelve."
"Do you all see that," asked Menzi, "and is it what the Teacher said
he would think about?"
"Yes, Doctor," they answered.
"Then look once more, for /I/ will think of something. I will think of
that church falling. Look once more."
They looked, and behold the shadowy fabric began to totter, then it
seemed to collapse, and last of all down went the spire and vanished
in the smoke.
"Have you seen anything, O people?" said Menzi, "for standing behind
this smoke I can see nothing. Mark that it is thick, since through it
I am invisible to you."
This was true, since they could only perceive the tips of his
outstretched fingers appearing upon each side of the smoke-fan.
"Yes," they answered, "we have seen a church fall down and vanish."
"That was my thought," said Menzi; "have I not told you that was the
thought my Spirit gave me?"
"This is black magic, and you are a fiend!" shouted Thomas, and was
silent.
"Not so, Tombool, though it is true that I have gifts which you clever
White people do not understand," answered Menzi.
By degrees the smoke melted away, and there on the ground were the ten
or twelve crooked pieces of ebony that they had seen consumed, now to
all appearance quite untouched by the flame. There too on their
farther side lay Menzi, shining with perspiration, and in a swoon or
sleeping.
"Come away," said Thomas shortly, and they turned to go, but at this
moment something happened.
Menzi, it will be remembered, had given Tabitha a kid of a long-haired
variety of goat peculiar to these parts. This little creature had
already grown attached to its mistress and walked about after her, in
the way which pet goats have. It had followed her that morning, but
not being interested in tricks or magic, engaged itself in devouring
herbs that grew amongst the tumbled stones of the old kraal.
Suddenly Menzi recovered from his faint or seizure and, looking up,
directed his attendants to return the magical ebony rods which burned
without being consumed to one of the hide bags that contained his
medicines. The assembly began to break up amidst a babel of excited
talk.
Tabitha looked round for her goat, and perceiving it at a little
distance, ran to fetch it, since the creature, being engaged in eating
something to its taste, would not come at her call. She seized it by
the neck to drag it away, with the result that its fore-feet,
obstinately set upon the wall, overturned a large stone, revealing a
great puff adder that was sleeping there.
The reptile thus disturbed instantly struck backwards after the
fashion of its species, so that its fangs, just missing Tabitha's
hands, sank deep into the kid's neck. She screamed and there was a
great disturbance. A native ran forward and pinned down the puff-adder
with his walking-stick of which the top was forked. The kid
immediately fell on to its side, and lay there bleeding and bleating.
Tabitha began to weep, calling out, "My goat is killed," between her
sobs.
Menzi, distinguishing her voice amid the tumult, asked what was the
matter. Someone told him, whereon he commanded that the kid should be
brought to him and the snake also. This was done, Tabitha following
her dying pet with her mother, for by now Thomas had departed, taking
no heed of these events, which perhaps he was too disturbed to notice.
"Save my goat! Save my goat, O Menzi!" implored Tabitha.
The old witch-doctor looked at the animal, also at the hideous puff-
adder that had been dragged along the ground in the fork of the stick.
"It will be hard, Little Flower," he said, "seeing that the goat is
bitten in the neck and this snake is very poisonous. Still for your
sake I will try, although I fear that it may prove but a waste of good
medicine."
Then he took one of his bags and from it selected a certain packet
wrapped in a dried leaf, out of which he shook some grey powder.
Seizing the kid, which seemed to be almost dead, he made an incision
in its throat over the wound, and into it rubbed some of this powder.
Next he spat upon more of the powder, thus turning it into a paste,
and opening the kid's mouth, thrust it down its throat, at the same
time muttering an invocation or spell.
"Now we must wait," he said, letting the kid fall upon the ground,
where it lay to all appearance dead.
"Is that powder any good?" asked Dorcas rather aimlessly.
"Yes, it is very good, Lady; a medicine of power of which I alone have
the secret, a magic medicine. See, I will show you. Except the
/immamba/, the ring-snake that puffs out its head, this one is the
most deadly in our country. Yet I do not fear it. Look!"
Leaning forward, he seized the puff-adder, and drawing it from beneath
the fork, suffered it to strike him upon the breast, after which he
deliberately killed it with a stone. Then he took some of the grey
powder and rubbed it into the punctures; also put more of it into his
mouth, which he swallowed.
"Oh!" exclaimed Dorcas, "he will die," and some of the Christian
Kaffirs echoed her remark.
But Menzi did not die at all. On the contrary, after shivering a few
times he was quite himself, and, indeed, seemed rather brighter than
before, like a jaded business man who has drunk a cocktail.
"No, Wife of Tombool," he said, "I shall not die; every year I doctor
myself with this magic medicine that is called /Dawa/, after which all
the snakes in Sisa-Land--remember that they are many, Little Flower--
may bite me if they like."
"Is it your magic or is it the medicine that protects you?" asked
Dorcas.
"Both, Lady. The medicine /Dawa/ is of no use without the magic words,
and the magic words are of no use without the medicine. Therefore
alone in all the land I can cure snake bites, who have both medicine
and magic. Look at your goat, Little Flower. Look at your goat!"
Tabitha looked, as did everyone else. The kid was rising to its feet.
It rose, it baa'd and presently began to frisk about its mistress,
like Menzi apparently rather brighter than before.
