" Thus was
Sheemish confounded.
And with Tuesday one came and washed his head with rose-water, and he
was worshipped again when they sang "There is also Sheemish." And yet
was Chu-bu content, for he said, "The head of Sheemish has been
defiled," and again, "His head was defiled, it is enough." And one
evening lo! there was dirt on the head of Chu-bu also, and the thing
was perceived of Sheemish.
It is not with the gods as it is with men. We are angry one with
another and turn from our anger again, but the wrath of the gods is
enduring. Chu-bu remembered and Sheemish did not forget. They spake as
we do not speak, in silence yet heard of each other, nor were their
thoughts as our thoughts. We should not judge them merely by human
standards. All night long they spake and all night said these words
only: "Dirty Chu-bu," "Dirty Sheemish." "Dirty Chu-bu," "Dirty
Sheemish," all night long. Their wrath had not tired at dawn, and
neither had wearied of his accusation. And gradually Chu-bu came to
realize that he was nothing more than the equal of Sheemish. All gods
are jealous, but this equality with the upstart Sheemish, a thing of
painted wood a hundred years newer than Chu-bu, and this worship given
to Sheemish in Chu-bu's own temple, were particularly bitter.
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