Chapter 8

Years and years before, when Afa Bibo was just a little baby, his mother and father, because they were superstitious and ignorant, had deliberately infected the little one with yaws, one of the most loathsome of African diseases. Little by little the disease had spread through his system till now, a boy in his teens, he was gradually losing his sight. So they had brought him to the white doctor who had done so much for boys and girls in the neighborhood, to see if he could also help Afa Bibo.

It took only a glance at the one eye to know that the sight was gone forever. But there was a chance that the other might be saved. To be sure, the inflammation was there and much damage had been done, but still there was a chance. So they put him under the care of the nurse and began the fight that was to tell whether he was to be one of the many African blind ones who suffer so much and help so little, or whether he was to be like other boys.

It was a long, hard time for the little fellow. The eyes must be washed with a solution that was very painful; he must spend long hours not only lying in bed but with all light shut from his eye. He grew very weary with it all. But after the months had gone, Afa Bibo went out of that hospital with an eye as clean and white in the ball as yours or mine.

Of course, he was anxious to go back to his people and tell them what wonderful things had been done for him, but the Doctor said,

"Afa, you can do much with your one good eye, but if you will stay right here and go to school with the boys for a time, you can do much, much more. You can be as good as one man, two men, and perhaps as much as three. If you will stay, you can be a big man in your own tribe. It may be you could be a teacher and tell the boys there how to read and write or it might be--yes, it might be--you could be a doctor and make other boys to see, just as we have done to you."

So Afa Bibo stayed in the mission school and learned to study, and to work, and to think. For a time he felt badly to think he had only one eye when all his companions had two, but little by little he seemed to have forgotten it.

Then came the day when the Christian people of that little African church were to pledge a definite number of days of service in carrying the message of the Christ to others. Some were to go out and teach; some were to carry Testaments and tracts written in Bulu to others; some were to help about the mission station so that there might be a better place in which to teach the ones who came. Some were to raise extra crops so they might have something to give to those who went far out to teach. Every one could give something, even though it was very different from what another gave.

As it neared the time for the service, the black people might be seen coming from all directions. Some had walked five miles, some ten, and some even twenty. All had something to eat so that they might stay to hear all the good news that could be given in a day. They filled the little bare building which the boys of the school had builded for a church; they filled the window spaces; then they filled the yard about the church. Oh! there were very many of them and all were eager for the service to begin.

Holding the roof of the little church were large poles which had been painted white and on these the pledges were to be made. So as the service began, many looked at the poles and thought what a wonderful thing it was to be allowed to give of themselves to the God who had become their own.

Soon the pledging began. First to go was the old chief who had given up his twenty wives that he might become a Christian. He was old. What would he give? First he made a slanting line and then he crossed it. Ah! that was ten days of service.

Then others were ready, and some gave ten days, some one or two weeks, and some could even give a month. The lines covered one pole and then another as the people passed down the aisle and out of the building.

Last of all came the boys of the school. How could they give? They were only boys. But they could take of their play time till they had gained a day or more to give. One marked after another and last of all it was the turn of Afa Bibo.

Very near to him stood the kind doctor who had made him free from the pain and able to see the way as he came to the white pole. So he smiled one of his rare smiles as he passed him. Then he made a slanting line and crossed it; another and crossed it. That was twenty days. No boy had given as much as that. But he was making another--twenty-five days. And he crossed the third. Then with his shoulders square and resolve in his face he went out with the rest.

As the missionaries sat before their home on the following day, they saw Afa Bibo coming across the yard to them. Calling the doctor aside, he said,

"Doctor, I am not satisfied with what I pledged yesterday. I want to give more."

"But, Afa," said the doctor, "already you have pledged thirty days. That is a great deal for a boy to give. A pledge to God from you must be as binding as His promise is to us. Work out the thirty days and then come back and give Him more if you like."

"But I am not happy about it," said the boy, "I want to give more."

"I think you had better leave it just as it is, for I am sure you do not know how long thirty days will be when you begin to give it all. Run along and do your lessons. I think you have given much to God," said the Doctor.

Then Afa slowly came very near to the doctor. Looking up into his face, he pulled down the lower lid of the good eye showing it to be white and free from all soreness and pain.

"Doctor," he said, "do you see that good eye? Well, God saved me that eye and I have more to be thankful for than any one else in all that big churchful yesterday. I owe him more than thirty days. Please, sir, I want to pay back a little of what I owe him. Let me make it thirty-five."

So together the doctor, who had given his life for God, and the little black boy, who was just beginning to give, went to the church and put another black mark on the tall white pole. And Afa Bibo went out to work his thirty-five days for God.

Were you to go among the Ntum people to-day, you would find there a man who is beloved by all because he has loved to give of himself to his people. He has a kindly face and a loving heart. It is Afa Bibo, the boy who is still eager to pay for his one good eye.

HOW KAGIGEGABO BECAME A BRAVE

Kagigegabo sat in front of the wigwam watching the fire slowly die out. Her heart was full of bitterness. For days she had watched the Braves get ready for the long chase. They had painted their faces; they had given their war cries; they had fasted and prayed.

And now they had gone and the camp seemed very still. Oh! how she had wanted to go! Why was she born a girl when she did want to be a Brave! Girls could never do brave things--they had to stay at home, and tend the fires, and hoe the garden. Everything a girl had to do, she hated. Everything a boy had to do, she liked. Her name was Kagigegabo, which meant "One who stands forever." That would be a great name for a Brave, but she could never do anything that was worth while. She was only a girl.

Slowly she rose to bring the corn and grind it. There was little needed, for the Braves of the wigwam had all gone--even Guka, her brother, had gone. Before this she had watched the others go and then had had him to cheer her. Oh, dear! Why was she a girl?

Hearing a step behind her, she rose to find Wicostu, the oldest squaw of the tribe, waiting to speak with her.

"I have heard your thought," she said. "You think that to be a girl is to be less than a Brave. It is not so. It is not so. To be a squaw one must be very brave. We cannot go to hunt and to kill, but it takes no less of courage to stay here and guard the tepees. It takes courage to bear pain--it takes courage to be tired and not complain. You can be brave, Kagigegabo, even though you must grow into a Mahala and sit by the fire. The courage is not in the war paint and feathers--the courage is all in the heart."

Kagigegabo sat very still after Wicostu had left her. Over and over she said to herself those last words of the old squaw--"The courage is all in the heart." Perhaps after all she could be a Brave, such as Guka was trying to be.

Down toward the spring she ran to get the water for the meal when, suddenly, a hand reached out of the bushes, and she was drawn into them. When she tried to scream, a heavy band was placed over her mouth, and then her hands were tied, her eyes were bandaged and she felt herself being thrown on a pony. Oh! how fast they went!--like the wind it seemed.

Who had taken her? Where was she going? What did they want? Frightened as she was, she still was trying to think.

Then, like a flash, there came to her something that she had heard the old chief say when she had been trying to get closer to the council fire the last night.

"We shall go by the hill trail, for Eagle's Claw will surely have spies about the camp. We cannot get through the valley alive."

Perhaps she had been taken by the spies and was on her way to the enemy camp of Eagle's Claw. Oh! What did they want? If only she were a Brave, perhaps she would know what to do. Then there came to her the words of Wicostu:

"You can be brave. The courage is all in the heart." But to be brave when one did not know what was going to happen--oh! that was hard.

When the bandage was taken from her eyes, she was in the center of a circle of old Braves. Very fierce they looked as she glanced about the circle. Her knees shook till it seemed she must fall. Then she made a low bow to the chief and pointed to her feet--a sign that she was ready to be his slave.

"Do you see that knife?" he screamed at her. "You shall die unless you tell us by what path and to what place your Braves went to-day. Speak!"

What should she do? If she told, the men would die. If she kept silence, she must die. Her hands trembled. Then she remembered again the words of Wicostu, "Courage is all in the heart," and smiling at the chief she said:

"Kagigegabo will lead you. She knows not the name, but the way."

For a long time they counseled. Should they go? At last five of the Braves were ready. They mounted her on a pony. Then they came to her with a great bow and some poisoned arrows and said:

"If you try to escape, these are for you. If you lead us wrong, these are for you. If you lead us right, you shall have this young Brave," and they led forth one of the strong, young Braves of the tribe. "Go."

Out of the encampment went the six horses. Where should she go? She must lead in the way of the hill. But how could she? Once she climbed a tree to get a look out and so gained a little time. Once she led them where the rock dropped sheer and bare, and again she gained time. But nearer and nearer to the meeting place she came.

Suddenly low at her feet she saw a tiny, white flower. It was the one used by her mother to make the sweet drink that would make one sleep, and sleep, and sleep. But if too much was taken, it meant death. A daring plan came to her mind. Dare she do it? Dare she eat of it? Mother brewed it--she must eat it as it was. They were still several hours from where she knew her father was to be found. If her plan succeeded, she could save him.

Reaching down, she dug her feet into the sides of the little pony. Immediately his heels went high in the air and she lay flat on the ground.

Quickly she gathered much of the little white flower and pushed it into her dress. Then when the men came, she was lying with broken ankle on the ground. The pain was intense, but the happiness that they must stop was sweet to the girl. Over and over and over she said to herself, "Courage is all in the heart. I can be a Brave."

She took some of the little white flower and began to eat of it.

"What is it?" said the men. "What do you eat?"

"I eat the sweet flower of this little plant. If you eat of this, you shall not thirst," said the girl.

Now they had ridden far and hard and the day was very warm, so when the men heard this, they bent and gathered bits of the plant. It was sweet and pleasing to the taste, so they ate more and more of it. And the Indian girl watched them and smiled when none could see.

It was decided to get the evening meal while the oldest chief bound the ankle of the girl. So they hurriedly cooked it. But before it was ready, the leader leaned against the old tree and he was asleep. Then another and another slept. Stronger than opium had been the flower that they had eaten.

* * * * *

Kagigegabo watched them while her own eyes began to droop. She must not go to sleep. Oh! what could she do? She must ride when they were asleep. What could she do? She turned and twisted the broken ankle. That helped a bit, for the pain was intense. She pulled great locks of her hair and tied them about her fingers so that the blood would have to force its way about. And after what seemed to her to be hours, she was still awake and the five men were all sleeping.

Slowly, very slowly, she pulled herself away from the fire out into the bush where her pony was tied. Her feet seemed determined not to move and she wanted so much to lie down and sleep. But she kept on till she had led the pony away from the group. Then she mounted and started on her ride.

But it was no use. She could not stay awake. Now what was she to do? They were on the direct road to the valley. For a moment she hesitated. Then quickly she tore her dress in strips. Taking a sharp stone, she cut her arm and with the blood she made two pictures on a piece of wood--the one showed five Indians asleep--the other showed an Indian girl by the road. Taking the strips from her dress, she fastened the bit of wood to the saddle.

She took from her arm the circle of brass which would tell her father from whom the message had come, and fastened it to the saddle. Then a cut of the whip across the legs sent the pony flying down the path.

After he had gone, the girl sat in a dazed way near the path. She was so tired. If only they would hurry, then she could tell them which way to go--but sleep came before the pony had gone even one mile.

Five days later, Kagigegabo opened her eyes slowly and looked about. She was lying on the skins in the wigwam of her mother. Her ankle was tightly bound and she felt very stiff and sore. Across her wrist there was an ugly cut. No one was about so she lay there trying to remember what had happened. How long had she been there and where was her mother?

A step sounded outside and an old war chief--her father--looked anxiously into the tent. When he saw her eyes open, he came slowly in and gazed long at the Indian girl on the bed and then went as slowly out again.

When he came back, there were with him five other chiefs. Around the bed they stood in a silent circle and Kagigegabo wondered what they were going to do with her. Had she done wrong? Was she to be punished?

But the old chief spoke:

"Kagigegabo, you have saved the tribe from ruin, and because of your help, we have captured the enemy, for whom we were searching. They have told us of your bravery and of your wisdom. You were more full of courage than any squaw we have ever known. You shall no longer be called Kagigegabo, but you shall be called Aotonaka, the daring one."

Then upon the arm of the girl who had wished she could be a Brave they bound a red band--the red band of courage.

THE WHITE FLOWER OF HAPPINESS

By Persis Richardson

The King sat in the library of the palace reading an old, old book--a book written when the King's great-great-grandfather sat on the throne. The King had never seen the book before and it was very interesting to him. For the book told of a strange little plant that had grown in the kingdom in those days of the old, old king.

No matter how hard the people had to work, if the little plant was growing in their homes, they were happy. Indeed, the book said that the flower of the plant was so beautiful that no garden was complete without it; so in the days of the long ago, it grew in the gardens of the rich and the poor, while happiness and prosperity reigned in the land.

Eagerly the king read the description of the little flower that grew on this wonderful plant. It was white as the driven snow. It had heart-shaped petals surrounding a wonderful heart of gold, and it was known as the White Flower of Happiness.

Now the King loved flowers dearly and there were many in his garden; but he was sure he had never seen this little flower. So, because he wanted to have one for his very own and especially because he wanted happiness and prosperity for his people, he determined to find it.

"Surely somewhere in the kingdom there must be a plant left if it grew so common in the days of my great-great-grandfather," said the King.

Then calling the heralds to him he said:

"Ride forth and search. Go East, and West, and North, and South, and say to my people, 'Search for the White Flower of Happiness, and when you have found it, bring it to me that I may raise more seeds so that all may have a chance to own it. 'Tis a little flower, white as the driven snow, with petals that are heart-shaped around a heart of gold.'"

Eagerly the people, both rich and poor, went to work, for they knew of the wondrous beauty of the flower and wished it for their own.

Now there were two people who were very sure they would be first to find the flower. One was a rich woman who loved beautiful things. Her home was the largest of any on the finest street in the royal city. She had many and large gardens, cared for by the best gardeners to be found. Yet in the summer-time, when they were glowing with hundreds of flowers, few there were who could enjoy them. A high hedge surrounded them all and only her friends were permitted to go through the iron entrance gate.

This wealthy woman said to herself: "I will find the flower and it will be easy to keep it secret from all others if I have it here behind the hedge. Then I shall be sure of happiness in the future."

So all of her gardeners were set to work to search for the White Flower of Happiness. Wherever they found a plant of rare beauty, they bought it hoping that it might be the plant she sought. Seeds of all kinds also were planted. And in the blossoming time there were flowers in the gardens by the thousands--but behind that great wall there was no flower that was white as the driven snow, with heart-shaped petals surrounding a heart of gold.

There was also a man in the kingdom who thought he could surely find the flower. He was a business man.

"If I could find it," he said, "I would grow more plants and sell them to the people at a great profit. Then I should quickly grow rich and there would be no need for me to work."

So he set his office force all to work to write letters to the gardeners and seed-growers of the world. They described the little flower and offered large sums for one single plant. But he, too, failed in his search. It was not to be found.

Down in the heart of the poorer section of the royal city there lived a little old lady whom every one called Aunt Betsy. She was very poor; she had only one room that she could call home, and her only companion was a scrawny cat that every one else had driven away. But it loved her and she loved it, and was glad to have it share her home.

She was very lame and had to hobble away to her work every morning, yet she was the cheeriest little body alive and every one loved her.

Aunt Betsy, like all of her neighbors, was seeking the White Flower of Happiness.

"This old street with its tumble-down houses, and uneven sidewalks, and tin cans surely needs a heap of something to cheer it," she would say. "Now, if I could find just one plant, I would make this old alley the finest place ever. Then the little children here could have some chance. I wish I might find it."

But no flowers grew where she lived or where she worked, so she couldn't hope to find the plant. The only thing she could do was to save every penny she could so that, if the King found the plant, she might possibly buy a seed.

Into an old tin cup she put the pennies, one by one, but it was very slow work, for Aunt Betsy was very poor.

One winter night as Aunt Betsy returned from work, she found a queer looking bundle on her door-step and, on unrolling it, she found Bobby, one of the neighbor's children. Now Bobby had no mother and only a poor drunken father, who often beat him. And Aunt Betsy saw, as she unrolled him, that his face was all tear-stained, so she knew what had been happening. Bobby had crept away from the blows to come to his best friend when in trouble--Aunt Betsy.

Carefully she picked the little fellow up, carried him into her bare little room, gave him a hot drink, and then tucked him all comfortably on the couch which served as her bed. Tired from his day of play and work, the little fellow was soon lost in sleep.

Not so Aunt Betsy. Sitting by the fire, all she could see were the great holes in the shoes she was drying. Bobby needed some shoes very badly, but she had no money with which to buy some.

"There is the money in the cup," said a voice within.

"But I couldn't give that, for I want so much to buy a seed to bring happiness to this alley," thought Aunt Betsy.

"But a pair of shoes would bring happiness to Bobbie now," said the voice.

She looked again at the little swollen feet under the cover on the couch. Then slowly, yet with a smile of infinite tenderness, she softly stole to the cupboard, took the money from the little tin cup, drew on her old shawl, and went out into the night.

'Twas a very happy Bobbie who went back to his home in the morning, and behind Aunt Betsy's stove were the little worn shoes. A little later a little old woman went down the narrow stairs to her work and she sang as she went.

That night Aunt Betsy, hurrying past a florist's shop, bumped into a barrel of waste that stood on the walk. Stopping abruptly, she saw a wilted-looking plant in an old broken pot on the top of the pile.

"Why, you poor little plant," said Aunt Betsy. "I'll just take you home and love you; perhaps you will grow for me in my little upper room."

So she carried it home, transplanted it into the old tin cup from which she had taken the money, and then set it where the sunshine would find it the very first thing in the morning.

In two days the plant showed signs of life. In a week it stood tall and firm. In two weeks there was a bud which Aunt Betsy watched with great care. Would it be pink or red or yellow? She didn't care if only it were a blossom.

'Twas night when she came home from her work, but as soon as she opened the door she knew that the little flower had opened, for the room was full of the fragrance that it was sending forth. She hurried to the window and she saw--oh, could she believe her eyes! She saw a little flower, white as the driven snow. Its petals were heart-shaped and surrounded a heart of wonderful gold. It was the White Flower of Happiness.

During the night, the little plant stayed with her in the attic room, but in the morning she carried it to the palace and gave it to the King. Thus, through a simple loving old woman, the White Flower of Happiness was given to a whole kingdom.

But the strange thing about the plant was this: Whenever its owner kept the flower only for self and did not share it with others, it withered and died; but, when lovingly shared, it grew and blossomed and made happy, not only its owner, but all to whom it went. It was in very truth to all--The White Flower of Happiness.

THE SPEAKING PICTURE