“Oh, my golly!” said Jeekie, shaking till his great knees knocked together, “oh! my golly! here pretty go.  She think you want bury me all alive.  That mean she want to be rid of Jeekie, because he got sit there and play gooseberry when she wish talk alone with you.  Oh, yes!  I see her little game.”

“Well, Jeekie,” said Alan, bursting into such a roar of laughter that he nearly shook off his mask, “you had better be careful, for you just told me that the Asika is not like a see-saw white woman and never changes her mind.  Say to this man that he must tell the Asika there is a mistake, and that however much I should like to oblige her, I can’t bury you because it has been prophesied to me that on the day you are buried, I shall be buried also, and that therefore you must be kept alive.”

“Capital notion that, Major,” said Jeekie, much relieved.  “She not want bury you just at present; next year perhaps, but not now.  I tell him.”  And he did with much vigour.

This slight misconception having been disposed of, they explained to the carpenters what was wanted.  First, all the gold was emptied out of the sacks in which it remained as the priests had brought it, and divided into heaps, each of which weighed about forty pounds, a weight that with its box Alan considered would be a good load for a porter.  Of these heaps there proved to be fifty-three, their total value, Alan reckoned, amounting to about L100,000 sterling.  Then the carpenters were set to work to make a model box, which they did quickly enough and with great ingenuity, cutting the wood with their native saws, dovetailing it as a civilized craftsman would do, and finally securing it everywhere with ebony pegs, driven into holes which they bored with a hot iron.  The result was a box that would stand any amount of rough usage and when finally pegged down, one that could only be opened with a hammer and a cold chisel.

This box-making went on for two whole days.  As each of them was filled and pegged down, the gold within being packed in sawdust to keep it from rattling, Alan amused himself in adding an address with a feather brush and a supply of red paint such as the Asiki priests used to decorate their bodies.  At first he was puzzled to know what address to put, but finally decided upon the following: 

Major A. Vernon, care of Miss Champers, The Court, near Kingswell, England. Adding in the corner, From A. V., Asiki Land, Africa.

It was all childish enough, he knew, yet when it was done he regarded his handiwork with a sort of satisfaction.  For, reflected Alan, if but one of those boxes should chance to get through to England, it would tell Barbara a great deal, and if it were addressed to himself, her uncle could scarcely dare to take possession of it.