have a roof at all. The rain was tearing down as if the
heavens were filled with fire-engines.

But they didn't want us there. We beheld a dirty low-ceiled room filled
with filthy people and a smell of wet unwashed clothes.

The owner and his wife received us roughly. "We have no room, we have
nothing," they said.

We stood our ground. "We _must_ have a roof to-night."

Outside the road had become a river, our men were nearly dropping with
fatigue.

"You can't come here," said the innkeeper, looking at us with great
distrust.

The major, whom Jo had "bothered," came in. "You must take these
people," he said, and asked various searching questions about the rooms.

Reluctantly the truth came out that if the whole family slept in one
room there would be one for us. The major ordered them to do it. Jo
wished she hadn't "bothered" him quite so gruffly.

The daughters stamped about, furiously pulling all the blankets off the
two beds, while one of them stood in the doorway watching us to see that
we did not secrete the greasy counterpanes. Several of the party sat,
hair on end, with staring eyes, too tired to shut them.

"Food?"

"Nema Nishta," was the response.

"Can we boil water?"

"No."

"Where can we boil it?"

"Nowhere."

"But there is a fire in the kitchen," we said, pointing to a hooded
fireplace where a few sticks were burning.

"Why shouldn't they boil water?" said a kindly looking man.

"Well, I suppose they can," said the old woman, who became almost
pleasant over the kitchen fire--telling Jo she was sixty and only a
stara Baba (old granny).

Miss Brindley made tea. We cheered as she brought it in. Tea, bully
beef, and our last biscuits comprised our dinner, which we ate in big
gulps, after which we sang "Three blind mice" as a digestive.

The half-open door was full of peering faces, so somewhat encouraged we
gave them a selection of rounds.

We left next morning early in a heavy downpour, after being exorbitantly
charged, glad to leave Jabooka for ever.

The professor was before us, an aged red Riding Hood, clad in his
scarlet blanket. The day was long and uneventful. Trudge, trudge,
splash, splash. The dividing line between snow and rain still was
heavily marked, but it sleeted and our hands were quite numbed. We
crossed an angry stream on a greasy pole and most of us splashed in.
Whatmough stood in the water, remarking, "I'm wet and I'll get no
wetter," and helped people across. Ag