"Here labor has lost his laugh!" cried Yoomy.

It was a great plain where we landed; and there, under a burning sun,
hundreds of collared men were toiling in trenches, filled with
the taro plant; a root most flourishing in that soil. Standing grimly
over these, were men unlike them; armed with long thongs, which
descended upon the toilers, and made wounds. Blood and sweat mixed;
and in great drops, fell.

"Who eat these plants thus nourished?" cried Yoomy. "Are these men?"
asked Babbalanja.

"Which mean you?" said Mohi.

Heeding him not, Babbalanja advanced toward the fore-most of those
with the thongs,--one Nulli: a cadaverous, ghost-like man; with a low
ridge of forehead; hair, steel-gray; and wondrous eyes;--bright,
nimble, as the twin Corposant balls, playing about the ends of ships'
royal-yards in gales.

The sun passed under a cloud; and Nulli, darting at Babbalanja those
wondrous eyes, there fell upon him a baleful glare.

"Have they souls?" he asked, pointing to the serfs.

"No," said Nulli, "their ancestors may have had; but their souls have
been bred out of their descendants; as the instinct of scent is killed
in pointers."

Approaching one of the serfs, Media took him by the hand, and felt of