of it now.

"Oh, I didn't mean that sort of a certificate. Will you certify there
are no monkeys in your Light Company?" remarked the missionary.

"Good-night, Wyzinski," was the only answer vouchsafed; and they both
turned in laughing.

Passing Quissanga and Goanha, the little caravan kept steadily on to the
northward, making short marches daily, until a period of three weeks had
elapsed since they had outspanned from the banks of the Limpopo. Their
camp was pitched at the foot of the spur of the Nyamonga mountain range
called Gorongoza. It was a pleasant spot, and here they determined to
rest a while. Several streams of bright, clear, cold water burst from
the mountains, and, after wandering about for some distance, threw
themselves into a river, which ran away towards the sea. Forests of the
cedar-trees clothed the mountain-sides, and to these Wyzinski pointed
triumphantly, asserting that they must now be close to the ruins, "There
they are," would he say; "and though there may exist a marked difference
between them and the far-famed cedar of Lebanon, though they may have
degenerated since the days when Pharaoh Necho's seamen lived under their
shade, yet in those cedar groves lie the fallen ruins of the old cities
of Zulu land, and there is enough timber to supply the world."

"I wonder what we should do without the custard-apples?" said Hughes,
the evening of the day when they arrived at Gorongoza.

"But why call it custard-apple, Hughes?"

"Because it is exactly like the custard-apple of the Madras Presidency,
black, rough, and repulsive-looking outside, and a white, delicious
custard inside, cool as if iced. It grows plentifully, like
blackberries, up-country there."

"Well, I almost prefer the mobala fruit. Under the tropical sun, which,
by the way, has tanned you to a mahogany colour, Hughes, it reminds one
of the strawberries of England. I shall open a campaign against the
wild duck. There seems lots of them."

"Here comes the Matabele chief; what has he got? Eggs, ducks' eggs, as
I am a sinner. Won't that be a treat after weeks of venison diet?"

The chief gravely stalked up to the two, and placing his eggs on the
ground, squatted down, and looking the missionary full in the face,
pointed down the course of the river, merely uttering the word "Sofala,"
then changing the direction of his finger, pointed to the north-west,
letting fall the dreaded word, "Tetse."

The two Europeans looked at