For greater ease in travelling, the ponies had been unfastened from each other when they had got some miles out from Reykjavik, and were urged to proceed at full gallop over the rough roads. This drew forth groans of anguish from Nimbus, who felt that he would not be able to retain his seat from one moment to another. He tugged at the pony’s mane, dug his heels into its ribs, and finally so worked upon its feelings that it laid back its ears, and turned directly towards one of the black bottomless bogs, of which there were several in that vicinity. In vain did the unhappy rider shout “Whoa!” and in vain did the others pursue the flying beast. It would not stop until it began to feel the soft ground of the bog under its feet, and then it drew up so suddenly that its rider was flung far over its head, and landed at full length in the treacherous mud. Dismounting and tossing his bridle to Breeze to hold, the guide, skipping from tussock to tussock, quickly made his way to where Nimbus was wallowing, in imminent danger of being suffocated. He got a rope under the negro’s arms, and the others, catching hold of it, literally dragged him ashore. Here he sputtered and choked and rolled his eyes, and dripped mud from every point, and presented such a woe-begone and ridiculous aspect that even the grave Icelander laughed at the sight. As for Breeze, his excess of merriment caused the tears to roll down his cheeks, and he had hardly strength enough to help scrape the worst of the mud from the comical figure. [Illustration: “YOU OUGHT TO HAVE WORN A DIVING SUIT, NIMBUS,” SAID BREEZE.] “You ought to have worn a diving suit, Nimbus,” he exclaimed between his outbursts of laughter. “Oh, g’way now, young cap’n. You oughter be ’shamed makin’ fun er ole Nim when he in a heap er trouble. I tell you, sah, dis cruisin’ on dry lan’ ’s dangersome work, an’ ef ebber ole Nim git back to salt-water he stick to um.” As a precaution against further mishaps of this nature, they lashed him fast to his pony after the manner of a pack, and once more the procession was got under way. That afternoon they passed through a wonderful gorge known as the Almannajau, with sides of shining black lava rising as sheer and regular as though it had been hewn out by giants. Beyond it lay the valley of Thingvalla, showing scattered patches of fresh green grass upon which sheep were grazing. In it stood a small church, and the house, or rather cluster of huts, in which dwelt the pastor of Thingvalla and his numerous family. They camped for the night beside the church, though the hospitable pastor begged them to consider his dwelling as theirs for as long as they chose to use it, and urged them at least to sleep in his Bädstove, or guest-chamber. One breath of the foul, suffocating air of the interior of the house was enough for Lord Seabright, and to the great relief of his young companion, he courteously declined in very good Latin the proffered hospitality.