ng he was much better, and could get up and walk about
a little. John looked uncomfortable at times, as they sat over
their breakfast by the fire under the great trees. He was trying
to make up his mind to tell his friend where he was, and to
recall what had happened to him. He could see that, now the
fever-mists were melting, he was likely to be remembering for
himself before long. But how could he break things to him easily
without giving him a dire shock in his worn-out state?

Then to him pondering, the crisis came of itself.

Suddenly out of the woodland stepped a party of natives with
monkey-nuts, sweet potatoes, and other wares, very cheery and
smiling.

Benson started and his eyes grew troubled. 'Is this Africa?' he
said. 'Then I'm not home after all not home after all.'

'You're in Africa,' said John. 'You came up here about three
months ago, so they told me.'

'I remember,' said Benson. 'There was some money trouble in the
City some bad trouble. Then I had to leave my little place in
Kent near Seven-oaks, just as I was getting it to rights.' He
looked miserable as he thought over things, this sallow little
City man.

Meanwhile John traded some monkey-nuts and sweet potatoes for
salt, and sent the traffickers away.

Afterwards Benson began to talk out of the bitterness of his
soul, and John lit his pipe and listened gravely. He talked about
his little estate near Sevenoaks, the cottages and the farm, the
Elizabethan manor-house, the school and church, the timber and
the planting of the new trees. 'I was just getting the place into
shape,' he said. And then he nearly broke down and cried as he
told about the trouble in the City, and how a family council had
been called, and he had agreed to go to this country for his
country's good, and to keep away. 'Oh this farm, as they call
it,' he said 'these thousands of acres of grass and rocks with a
tin shanty to die of fever in! How wretched I've been here! But
we aren't on the farm still, are we? This seems a bit better. It
regularly took me in, this place. I did really think I was in
Kent again.'

John knocked out his pipe solemnly, and was just going to try and
say something comforting.

But Benson began again. 'And how did you get here you, the only
friend I've got in this wretched country?'

John told him that he had come down to see him, when he did,
without knowing how ill he was. He had had a letter from him, at
his store up in Rosebery last mon