As we passed it, Bastin stooped down and picked up the head of the image of Oro, much as Atalanta in Academy pictures is represented as doing to the apples, and bore it away in triumph.
"I know it is scorched," he ejaculated at intervals, "but they might trim it up and stick it on to a new body as the original false god.

Now they can't, for there's nothing left." As a matter of fact, we were never in any real danger, for our pursuit was very half-hearted indeed.

To begin with, now that their first rage was over, the Orofenans who were fond of us had no particular wish to do us to death, while the ardour of their sorcerers, who wished this very much, had been greatly cooled by the mysterious annihilation of their idol and the violent deaths of two of their companions, which they thought might be reduplicated in their own persons.

So it came about that the chase, if noisy, was neither close nor eager.
We reached the edge of the lake where was the boat-house of which I have spoken already, travelling at little more than a walk.

Here we made Bastin unfasten the better of the two canoes that by good luck was almost filled with offerings, which doubtless, according to custom, must be made upon the day of this feast to Oro, while we watched against surprise at the boat-house door.