At every halting-place food was brought to us by the natives for our porters; they generally offer it as a gift, but would be very disappointed if they did not get something of greater value in exchange. One has to be provided with a purse of curious dimensions, for at some villages reading sheets, hymn books, or gospels are the payments most valued; in others, calico, cowrie-shells, pice, or even beads of the particular design which happens to be the latest fashion in clothing there at the time. The scenery on our second day’s travel was exhilarating; the road lay near the base of Ruwenzori’s mountains. We steamed along on our machines with sun-hats and big sun-shades over ridges and through mud at which even a horse would stop and consider. Our noble Apolo insisted on keeping pace with our bicycles, and as small batches of natives passed on the road, gazing with blank astonishment at these “running snakes,” he called out with pride and elation “Look at the wisdom of the white man.” Just as this remark was shot out for the third time the front bicycle tumbled clean into an ant-pit, and was irremediably smashed up. The people did not evince any concern or surprise: they evidently considered it a part of the show. One of the onlookers was chartered to shoulder the fragments back to Kabarole. I am not quite sure if he did not wonder where the “wisdom” came in. When we were within one and a-half hours of our next camp, streams of natives came running out to meet and welcome us. They continued increasing in number till we reached the village, Butanuka, which seemed well awake, what with the shrieking excitement of the people and the howlings of the children, who yelled with fear and alarm. Really our welcome resembled our first appearance in Toro, for here as everywhere in these parts the people had never seen white women. The drum was beaten, and although we were tired out and longed for a quiet rest and a cup of tea, we were borne along with the crowd there and then into the little grass church, where the native teacher thanked God for sending us, and we expressed our joy at coming out to them. The chief had erected a large grass shed where we could sit during the time of day when the sun makes a tent absolutely unbearable. His wife brought us in her offering in the shape of a sheep, six chickens, eggs, twenty bundles of bananas, native spinach, and two large gourds of “mubisi”—banana juice. Butanuka is a charming spot, surrounded on three sides by mountains. Toward the south these suddenly terminate and expose an arm of Lake Dweru. In nearly all the valleys are stretches of cultivated land and banana groves, while the little brown grass huts peep out like so many eyes from among their green surroundings.