unknown in the art of lying, and yet
they repeat stories of bygone battles and slaughter, which they have
heard and believed, as gospel truth. Like Esau, with the smell of the
field upon them, they love to listen, too, to stories of unknown
lands, where the houses are even larger and finer than those of
Cetinje or Podgorica, which towns many even have not seen; but too
much of the outside world one cannot tell them, for then they look
hurt at being deemed so childish. They are curious, too, as are all
children, and love to examine the clothes which we strange foreign
creatures wear. There they sit on the hard earthen floor, as happy and
contented as princes, nay, more so, for they have no cares to trouble
them. They proffer us their tobacco tins, accepting ours in return,
touching their caps as they do so; then the cigarette, deftly rolled,
is lit by a glowing ember, which they rake from the fire, and the now
burning cigarette is handed to us to light from. Again we all touch
our caps, for it is rigid etiquette, in accepting a light, to
acknowledge the courtesy by a half military salute. In the corner the
calf will moan, and we, now half asleep, will stretch out our weary
limbs, draw our coats and blankets over us, and to the murmur of the
now subdued conversation, find forgetfulness in sweet sleep.

I remember a conversation with a boy of about fifteen, who was out
shooting with me, and acting as my guide and beater.

It was nearing sunset, and we sat and rested on a ridge which
overlooked both sides of the valleys.

He asked me so many questions that I asked him if he had never even
been to Podgorica.

"No," he said, "I shall never go."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I am content here. If I went to that great town, I should be
ashamed of my ragged clothes. I should want to buy the beautiful
things which they tell me are to be bought in the shops, and not
having money I should be sad. No; it is better never to have seen such
magnificence."

"But," I argued, "if thou goest to Podgorica, thou wouldst find work.
Even I could get thee employment."

"No," he repeated; "my home is in the mountains. In time I would have
to return here, and I should be miserable with the remembrance of
those happy days."

This boy had been taught at the school, and he told me the capitals of
the great countries, which were nothing more than empty names to him.
He knew, also, a few words of German, about two phrases, though how he
pick