They must have enjoyed a good long sleep, as no hints of their activity are traced in the native traditions, which go back to a corresponding Adamic period. There are quite a number of legends, however, which invariably associate them with evil spirits that are supposed to live in the craters. This is believed even still by some of the raw peasants. One day a woman told me that her two little boys had been playing in the courtyard while she was at work, and the “Muchwezi” (evil spirit) from the Crater hill two miles away had come and run off with her elder child. For two years he had remained lost to them, when suddenly he returned clothed in a strip of bark-cloth and a charm round his neck peculiar to that evil spirit. He was sworn to divulge nothing of what had happened to him while being with the evil spirits in the crater, under the penalty of being caught away again by them. [Illustration: THE MARKET PLACE. _Photo by D. V. F. Figueira, Mombasa._] Here let me recount a rather unique picnic we had at one of these crater lakes three miles away. It happened on a Monday—the Missionaries’ off-day—when general repairs and washing are usually done, or visits paid to neighbouring villages. We started off on our bikes in high spirits which managed to survive a heavy thunderstorm that overtook us half way and soaked us through. We hung ourselves out to dry round a fire in the hut on the lake shore, and having warmed ourselves with tea made for the lake in search of wild-duck. We baled the water out of the dug-out canoe and set off with three boys as paddlers. You never met with anything more aggravating than an African dug-out; they are so badly balanced that the least movement threatens to overturn the skiff; and as for steering, that is out of the question. Anyhow, when we were far away from our landing point, the canoe refused to move, except in complete circles. We could make no headway; the united efforts of all—barring myself, who did not row—failed to move the boat except in rapid revolutions. Then a storm blew up and darkness seemed to be suddenly settling down on us. One of our party, who knew from experience our danger, was in a terrible fright. I tried hard to tune up to “Excelsior” and “Midshipmite,” which eventually evidently appealed to the kind heart of the elements, for the boat moved and we were safely landed. But the return home was the difficulty. The moon went in as soon as it appeared, and as it was so dark a different route was suggested, in order to escape the river which we had to cross on our way out. About half way we found out that the recent storms had washed away the bridge we had relied upon to get us across the river and so were obliged to trust to other means. Miss Pike headed the procession on a boy’s shoulder, but as the water came up to the lad’s armpit her position was far from enviable. Then I ventured on the donkey, sitting in a sort of tailor fashion, but, alas! the water refused to let me off scot free.