prices."

So we took what we could, put Stajitch to bed, saw the prefect, our old
friend from Chainitza, who promised us a carriage for Cettinje in the
morning.

Miss Brindley, joyfully ready to see Cettinje and anything else that
might turn up, joined Jo and Jan in the old shandrydan carriage which
lumbered along for seven hours to Cettinje.

"We are going to find Turkish delight," said the others, as they
disappeared down a side street, revelling in the idea of a rest.

Cettinje was inches deep in water. We assured the Count de Salis that
much as we needed money to continue the journey, we needed baths more.

This was a weighty matter and needed much thinking out, petroleum being
very scarce. The huge empty Legation kitchen stove was lit and upon it
were placed all the kettles, saucepans, and empty tins in the place; the
picturesque old baggy-breeched porter, his wife, and little boy stoking
hard, and asking lots of questions. One by one we were ushered into a
room, not the bathroom but a room containing the sort of comfortable
bath which makes the least water go the longest way, and also a
beautiful hot stove. This solemn rite occupied a whole afternoon. We
had not taken our clothes off for sixteen days and had been in the
dirtiest of places. A change of underclothing was effected. None too
soon! for at Lieva Rieka we had picked up lice.

We compared notes on this part afterwards. "Happy hunting?" we inquired
like Mowgli's friends. It was good to sit by the big kitchen stove
holding bits of dripping clothing to the blaze; the downfall at Cettinje
the evening before having completely drenched our damp things again.

Next day outside the world was white and silent, the snow covering the
little city and its intrigues with a thick whitewash.

The minister was the kindest of hosts and could not do enough for us
during our stay. Cettinje had not changed much. The hotel-keeper showed
an intense and violent anxiety to leave Montenegro. Never had his native
Switzerland seemed so alluring and never was it so unattainable. The
chemist, who owned a little one-windowed shop, was engaged to the king's
niece, quite a lift in the world for her, as she was marrying a man of
education.

Penwiper, the dog, was still in sole possession of the street, and again
went mad with joy at the sound of English women's voices, and
accompanied us everywhere, generally upside-down in the snow, clutching
our skirts with her teeth.

Jan