officials at the other end of the terrace. The bearded man, apparently
unconscious of the Royal scrutiny, had placed a rounded stone on the
gravel, and was standing beside it making curious passes over it with
his hoe. It was this singular behaviour that had attracted the King's
attention. Superficially it seemed silly, and yet Merolchazzar had a
curious feeling that there was a deep, even a holy, meaning behind the
action.
'Who,' he inquired, 'is that?'
'He is one of your Majesty's gardeners,' replied the Vizier.
'I don't remember seeing him before. Who is he?'
The Vizier was a kind-hearted man, and he hesitated for a moment.
'It seems a hard thing to say of anyone, your Majesty,' he replied,
'but he is a Scotsman. One of your Majesty's invincible admirals
recently made a raid on the inhospitable coast of that country at a
spot known to the natives as S'nandrews and brought away this man.'
'What does he think he's doing?' asked the King, as the bearded one
slowly raised the hoe above his right shoulder, slightly bending the
left knee as he did so.
'It is some species of savage religious ceremony, your Majesty.
According to the admiral, the dunes by the seashore where he landed
were covered with a multitude of men behaving just as this man is
doing. They had sticks in their hands and they struck with these at
small round objects. And every now and again----'
'Fo-o-ore!' called a gruff voice from below.
'And every now and again,' went on the Vizier, 'they would utter the
strange melancholy cry which you have just heard. It is a species of
chant.'
The Vizier broke off. The hoe had descended on the stone, and the
stone, rising in a graceful arc, had sailed through the air and fallen
within a foot of where the King stood.
'Hi!' exclaimed the Vizier.
The man looked up.
'You mustn't do that! You nearly hit his serene graciousness the King!'
'Mphm!' said the bearded man, nonchalantly, and began to wave his hoe
mystically over another stone.
Into the King's careworn face there had crept a look of interest,
almost of excitement.
'What god does he hope to propitiate by these rites?' he asked.
'The deity, I learn from your Majesty's admiral is called Gowf.'
'Gowf? Gowf?' King Merolchazzar ran over in his mind the muster-roll of
the gods of Oom. There were sixty-seven of them, but Gowf was not of
their number. 'It is a strange religion,' he murmured. 'A strange
religion, indeed. But, by Belus, distinctly attractive. I have an idea
that Oom could do with a religion like that. It has a zip to it. A sort
of fascination, if you know what I mean. It looks to me extraordinarily
like what the Court physician ordered. I will talk to this fellow and
learn more of these holy ceremonies.'
And, followed by the Vizier, the King made his way into the garden. The
Vizier was now in a state of some apprehension. He was exercised in his
mind as to the effect which the embracing of a new religion by the King
