He just went on with his teaching, lamenting from time to time the stumbling-block of the idol and expressing wonder as to how it might be circumvented by a change in the hearts of the islanders, or otherwise.

Sad as it is to record, in fact, dear old Bastin went as near to telling a fib in connection with this matter as I suppose he had ever done in his life.

It happened thus.

One day Bickley's sharp eye caught sight of Bastin walking about with what looked like a bottle of whisky in his pocket.
"Hallo, old fellow," he said, "has the self-denying ordinance broken down?
I didn't know that you took pegs on the sly," and he pointed to the bottle.
"If you are insinuating, Bickley, that I absorb spirits surreptitiously, you are more mistaken than usual, which is saying a good deal.

This bottle contains, not Scotch whisky but paraffin, although I admit that its label may have misled you, unintentionally, so far as I am concerned." "What are you going to do with the paraffin ?" asked Bickley.
Bastin coloured through his tan and replied awkwardly: "Paraffin is very good to keep away mosquitoes if one can stand the smell of it upon one's skin.