e had been falling all the morning; at last the carriage came.
Our driver was a wretched half-starved, high-cheeked Moslem in rags,
whose trousers were only made draught proof by his sitting on the holes.
He tried to squeeze another passenger upon us; but we were wiser, and
were just not able to understand what he was saying. Our Turk's method
of driving was to tie the reins to the carriage rail, flourishing a whip
and shouting with vigour; every ten minutes he glanced uneasily
backwards to see that nothing had broken loose or come away.

The valley we entered had been very deep, but at some period had been
half filled by a deposit of sand and pebble which had hardened into a
crumbling rock. We were driving over the gravelly shelf, above our head
rose walls of limestone, and deep below was the river which had eaten
the softer agglomerate into a hundred fantastic caverns. All along the
road we passed groups of tramping volunteers fresh from America with
store clothes and suitcases; the sensible were also festooned with
boots. It was pretty cold sitting in the carriage, and it grew colder as
we mounted.

At last we halted to rest the horses at a cafe. The influence of "Pod"
was heavy still. A group of grumpy people were sitting around a fire
built in the middle of the floor; they did not greet us--which is
unusual in Montenegro--but continued the favourite Serb recreation of
spitting. In the centre of them was an old man on a chair, also
expectorating, and by his side one older and scraggier, his waistcoat
covered with snuff and medals, palpitated in a state of senile decay,
holding in a withered hand a palmfull of snuff which he had forgotten to
inhale. There were a lot of women saying nothing and spitting. A sour,
hard-faced woman admitted that there was coffee.

Jo, trying to cheer things up a bit, said brightly--

"Is it far to Andrievitza?"

A woman mumbled, "Far, bogami."

Jo again: "It is cold on the road."

A long silence, broken with the sound of spitting, followed. At last a
woman in the darkest corner murmured--

"Cold, bogami."

It was like the opening of a Maeterlinckian play, but we gave it up,
sipped our coffee, and when we had finished, fled outside into the cold
which, after all, was warmer than these people's welcome. Outside we met
a young man who spoke German, and as he wanted to show off, he stopped
to converse. We were joined by an older man who claimed to be his
father. The father was rea