amped out disconsolately, and
rose anxiously, having lost my way overnight. I had spent Easter
Day in a cathedral, or pro-cathedral, town, and was now on my way
to a certain mission. I had hoped to make it that last night
the third night of the journey but had somehow missed it in the
dark after a big effort. There seemed to be no native village
near, and no passers-by. My carriers were strangers to that
neighborhood, and I was afraid of going far past the house in
benighted wanderings, so I bent my resolution and lay down. I
rose just before the sun did. It was April and the dews were very
heavy.

From a rocky hill above me the baboons were barking. Just below
us was a fair stream with a rich grove of native trees on the
further bank. Some native gardens showed on the slope above. The
white path wound through them, then away among boulders, some of
them very big ones. While I watched the stream I saw a white body
of mist mounting up. Just at that moment the sun showed. As I
looked on the sacred sight I saw somebody coming down the path.
It was the man whose mission station I had been looking for. He
was coming through the long grass in a hurry. Soon he splashed
through the drift. After that he caught sight of me, and rushed
up to our camp, glowing. It was Leonard Reeve. He looked much the
same as he did that day in London three years before--dark, pale,
slight, earnest. I had been to his sendoff and gone down to
Victoria Docks with him. I had written to tell him; I was most
likely coming his way after Easter. He seemed ever so glad to see
me.

'But where were you off to?' I said.

'It's only a mile on that I'm going,' he answered. 'There's a
little chapel on that hill over there with some native villages
near by. I want to have an Easter service there.'

'Let me come,' said I. 'You can be back to breakfast here, can't
you, when we've done?'

He said he could. Even as he nodded I felt a little anxious when
I remembered that we had no meat of any sort left. I took Jack,
my head carrier, aside and asked him to do what he could while we
were gone. Couldn't he buy some eggs for salt, or do something
useful in the way of foraging? He said three words in kitchen
Kaffir that sounded hopeful.

Then I went on with my chill, damp little friend. One of the
coldest ways surely of taking a bath is to tramp through the long
grass (it is very long in that country) when it is drenched with
dew or rain. However it is all righ