She feared him more than she
did Mabunu. He often scolded her for nothing, quite habitually
terminating his tirades by cruelly beating her, until her little
body was black and blue.
But when she was alone she was happy, playing with Geeka, or decking
her hair with wild flowers, or making ropes of grasses. She was
always busy and always singing--when they left her alone. No amount
of cruelty appeared sufficient to crush the innate happiness and
sweetness from her full little heart. Only when The Sheik was
near was she quiet and subdued. Him she feared with a fear that
was at times almost hysterical terror. She feared the gloomy jungle
too--the cruel jungle that surrounded the little village with
chattering monkeys and screaming birds by day and the roaring and
coughing and moaning of the carnivora by night. Yes, she feared
the jungle; but so much more did she fear The Sheik that many times
it was in her childish head to run away, out into the terrible
jungle forever rather than longer to face the ever present terror
of her father.
As she sat there this day before The Sheik's goatskin tent, fashioning a
skirt of grasses for Geeka, The Sheik appeared suddenly approaching.
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