"It won't be the first time," thought Royce, remembering a certain hot afternoon years before, when he and Challis, happy-go-lucky schoolboys, had dozed the hours away in the fork of an elm overlooking the cricket-field. They sat down on the ground to eat their frugal supper. John was quite concerned at having nothing better to offer his master than some parched grain and a few nuts, and vigorously rated the carrier for not bringing some of the birds Challis had shot. He wanted to kindle a fire and give the food at least a little flavour by roasting, but Royce would not allow it. "We don't know how near the Tubus are," he said. "They might see the flame, or smell the smoke. I shall do very well as it is, John." Then they climbed the tree one after another, Royce envying the agility with which the barefooted negroes mounted, and selected, each for himself, a secure perch among the branches. The two Hausas fell asleep instantly. Royce, however, found his quarters very unpleasant. They were not in the least like the cool elm he remembered so vividly. Mosquitoes and a thousand other small insects buzzed about him, settling upon face and arms, some to sting, others to bite, until he was in torture. He swung his arms about to ward them off, and covered his face with his handkerchief, tucking it under his helmet and into the collar of his coat. But the terrible pests defied all his efforts to protect himself, and he gave up at last, resigning himself to endure their torments with what patience he was master of. It was some time, too, before he lost his fear of toppling from his swaying perch and crashing to the ground. The effort to secure himself made his limbs stiff and cramped, and he looked forward to a night of sleeplessness and pain. But sleep crept upon him unawares. He fell into a doze, uneasy indeed, and fitful, but yet giving blessed intervals of oblivion. From one of these spells of slumber, Royce suddenly started to wakefulness and a strange feeling of terror. He had not been dreaming; by this time he was so much accustomed to the stings of the insects as to be almost unconscious of them. Yet he was bathed in sweat, and felt as though some fearful doom were hanging over him. He lay panting in the crook of the branches. What was this strange, musty odour of which he was now aware? What was the cause of the dreadful feeling of sickness that chilled his skin? Unable to account for his wretched state, he lay still, hoping that the feeling would pass.