A few yards farther on they emerged from this tunnel-like roadway and found themselves travelling along the northern face of the koppie. Here, surrounded by a fence, stood the Chief’s kraal, and just outside of it a large, thatched hut with one or two smaller huts at its back. It was a good hut of its sort, being built after the Basuto fashion with a projecting roof and a doorway, and having a kind of verandah floored with beaten lime. “This was the Teacher’s house,” said Kosa as the wagon halted. “I should like to look inside it at once,” remarked Dorcas doubtfully, adding, “Why, what’s that?” and she pointed to a suspicious-looking, oblong mound that was covered with weeds, over which she had almost stumbled. “That is the grave of the late Teacher, Lady. We buried him here because Menzi’s people took up the bones of those who were in the churchyard and threw them into the river,” explained Kosa. Dorcas looked as though she were going to faint, but Thomas, rising to the occasion, remarked: “Come on, dear. The dead are always with us, and what better company could we have than the dust of our sainted predecessor.” “I would rather have his room,” murmured Dorcas, and gathering herself together, proceeded to the hut. Somebody opened the door with difficulty, and as it seemed to be very dark within Thomas struck a match, by the light of which Dorcas peered into the interior. Next second she fell back into his arms with a little scream. “Take me away!” she said. “The place is full of rats.” He stared; it was quite true. There, sitting up upon the dead missionary’s bed, was a singularly large rat that did not seem in the least frightened by their appearance, whilst other creatures of the same tribe scuttled about the floor and up the walls. Dorcas slept, or did not sleep, that night in the wagon with Tabitha, while Thomas took his rest beneath it as well as a drizzling rain that was falling would allow. Such was the beginning of the life of the Bull family in Sisa-Land, not an encouraging beginning, it will be admitted, though no worse and perhaps much better than that which many missionaries and their families are called upon to face in various regions of the earth. What horror is there that missionaries have not been called upon to endure? St. Paul tells us of his trials, but they are paralleled, if not surpassed, even in the present day.