Tu-Kila-Kila’s air was more insolent and arrogant than even before.  He was clearly in high spirits.  “You have done well, O King of the Rain,” he said, turning gayly to Felix; “and you too, O Queen of the Clouds; you have done right bravely.  We have all acquitted ourselves as our people would wish.  We have made our showers to descend abundantly from heaven; we have caused the crops to grow; we have wetted the plantain bushes.  See; Tu-Kila-Kila, who is so great a god, has come from his own home on the hills to greet you.”

“It has certainly rained in the night,” Felix answered, dryly.

But Tu-Kila-Kila was not to be put off thus.  Adjusting his thin mask or veil of bark, so as to hide his face more thoroughly from the inferior god, he turned round once more to the chiefs, who even so hardly dared to look openly upon him.  Then he struck an attitude.  The man was clearly bursting with spiritual pride.  He knew himself to be a god, and was filled with the insolence of his supernatural power.  “See, my people,” he cried, holding up his hands, palm outward, in his accustomed god-like way; “I am indeed a great deity—­Lord of Heaven, Lord of Earth, Life of the World, Master of Time, Measurer of the Sun’s Course, Spirit of Growth, Creator of the Harvest, Master of Mortals, Bestower of Breath upon Men, Chief Pillar of Heaven!”

The warriors bowed down before their bloated master with unquestioning assent.  “Giver of Life to all the host of the gods,” they cried, “you are indeed a mighty one.  Weigher of the equipoise of Heaven and Earth, we acknowledge your might; we give you thanks eternally.”

Tu-Kila-Kila swelled with visible importance.  “Did I not tell you, my meat,” he exclaimed, “I would bring you new gods, great spirits from the sun, fetchers of fire from my bright home in the heavens?  And have they not come?  Are they not here to-day?  Have they not brought the precious gift of fresh fire with them?”

“Tu-Kila-Kila speaks true,” the chiefs echoed, submissively, with bent heads.

“Did I not make one of them King of the Rain?” Tu-Kila-Kila asked once more, stretching one hand toward the sky with theatrical magnificence.  “Did I not declare the other Queen of the Clouds in Heaven?  And have I not caused them to bring down showers this night upon our crops?  Has not the dry earth drunk?  Am I not the great god, the Saviour of Boupari?”

“Tu-Kila-Kila says well,” the chiefs responded, once more, in unanimous chorus.

Tu-Kila-Kila struck another attitude with childish self-satisfaction.  “I go into the hut to speak with my ministers,” he said, grandiloquently.  “Fire and Water, wait you here outside while I enter and speak with my friends from the sun, whom I have brought for the salvation of the crops to Boupari.”