There's only one thing
in the world which justifies /that/, and it isn't a flower.
Mavovo and Hans had followed us into the enclosure, and I overheard a
conversation between them which amused me. The gist of it was that
Hans explained to Mavovo that the white people admired this weed--he
called it a weed--because it was like gold, which was the god they
really worshipped, although that god was known among them by many
names. Mavovo, who was not at all interested in the affair, replied
with a shrug that it might be so, though for his part he believed the
true reason to be that the plant produced some medicine which gave
courage or strength. Zulus, I may say, do not care for flowers unless
they bear a fruit that is good to eat.
When I had satisfied myself with the splendour of these magnificent
blooms, I asked Mrs. Eversley what certain little mounds might be that
were dotted about the enclosure, beyond the circle of cultivated peaty
soil which surrounded the orchid's roots.
"They are the graves of the Mothers of the Holy Flower," she answered.
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