She said it in the same simple, matter-of-fact way as she had said that she was a nurse for three years in Queensland.  To her it was a common incident of everyday life.  Such accidents will happen, if you break taboo and go too near forbidden temples.

But Muriel drew back, and let the pleasant-looking brown girl’s hand drop suddenly.  “You can’t mean it,” she cried.  “You can’t mean he’s a god!  Such a wicked man as that!  Oh, his very look’s too horrible.”

Mali drew back in her turn with a somewhat terrified air, and peeped suspiciously around her, as if to make sure whether any one was listening.  “Oh, hush,” she said, anxiously.  “Don’t must talk like that.  If Tu-Kila-Kila hear, him scorch us up to ashes.  Him very great god!  Him good!  Him powerful!”

“How can he be good if he does such awful things?” Muriel exclaimed, energetically.

Mali peered around her once more with terrified eyes in the same uneasy way.  “Take care,” she said again.  “Him god!  Him powerful!  Him can do no wrong.  Him King of the Trees!  Him King of Heaven!  On Boupari island, Methodist god not much; no god so great like Tu-Kila-Kila.”

“But a man can’t be a god!” Muriel exclaimed, contemptuously.  “He’s nothing but a man! a savage!  A cannibal!”

Mali looked back at her in wondering surprise.  “Not in Queensland,” she answered, calmly—­to her, all the world naturally divided itself into Queensland and Polynesia—­“no god in Queensland.  Governor, him very great chief; but him no god like Tu-Kila-Kila.  Methodist god in sky, him only god that live in Queensland.  But no use worship Methodist god over here in Boupari.  Him no live here.  Tu-Kila-Kila live here.  All god here make out of man.  Live in man.  Korong!  What for you say a man can’t be a god!  You god yourself!  White gentleman there, god!  Korong, Korong.  Chief put you in Heaven, so make you a god.  People pray to you now.  People bring you presents.”

“You don’t mean to say,” Muriel cried, “they bring me these things because they think me a goddess?”

Mali nodded a grave assent.  “Same like people give money in church in Queensland,” she answered, promptly.  “Ask you make rain, make plenty crop, make bread-fruit grow, make banana, make plantain.  You Korong now.  While your time last, Queenie, people give you plenty of present.”

“While my time last?” Muriel repeated, with a curious sense of discomfort creeping over her slowly.

The girl nodded an easy assent.  “Yes, while your time last,” she answered, laying a small bundle of palm-leaves at Muriel’s back by way of a cushion.  “For now you Korong.  By and by, Korong pass to somebody else.  This year, you Korong.  So people worship you.”

But nothing that Muriel could say would induce the girl further to explain her meaning.  She shook her head and looked very wise.  “When a god come into somebody,” she said, nodding toward Muriel in a mysterious way, “then him god himself; him Korong.  When the god go away from him, him Korong no longer; somebody else Korong.  Queenie Korong now; so people worship him.  While him time last, people plenty kind to him.”