Mr. Stott led the way to the "baraza" with its rough table of reed-bundles on a framework of sticks and its palm trunks to sit on. The Stott children were playing on the dusty turf of the cleared ground in front of the baraza. "I’m afraid you’ll think our little ’uns rather uncared for," said Mr. Stott apologetically; "but my poor wife’s had too much to do in our hurried flight and after we got here to spend much time on their clothing or even getting them clean!" The eldest of the three was a pretty boy with light flaxen hair and blue eyes, very tanned of skin, very grubby of face and hands. He wore a tattered smock and short breeches, vestiges of a "sailor suit." On his feet were cleverly made native sandals, as on those of his younger brother and little sister, whose legs and feet were otherwise naked, and the two smaller children had little on but a yard or two of calico wound round the waist. Lucy recognized in the youngest the solemn baby she had seen at Unguja playing with the large cockroaches; and said so. "Yes," replied Mr. Stott. "Afraid of nothing, poor little mite. When the Ruga-ruga came I hurriedly built up a sort of zariba of boxes and stones, and put a tarpaulin over it and told the little ’uns to keep quiet; and there they were, all through the fighting. Mother and I would go and give ’em food every now and again, and Edgar here"—pointing to the boy—"’ud say, ’How’s the fight going, Daddy?’ And Edgar’s bin a rare good boy since we came here, helping to tie these bundles of reeds and making himself useful. Our eldest’s at home in Ireland with her grandmother—for her education. The next one we buried years ago in the Nguru country, and the very youngest—bless her—died of infantile diarrhoea last March at Burungi. That accounts for the six of ’em; and I’ll lay there aren’t many British children have had such an adventurous bringing-up, ’cept the young Livingstones and Moffats." Mrs. Stott was now spreading a wrinkled, grey-white cloth over the reed table-top. And the children were up on their feet helping her and a native servant bring the meal from the cook-house to the baraza. "We’re giving you just the native _ugali_—porridge, you know," said Mrs. Stott, "but there’s a lovely pot of fresh milk from the natives’ cattle. Here’s some honey in a calabash. Here are the rest of the scones we had for breakfast. I’ve made you some tea—rather weak, but it is so precious. And whilst you’re tackling _that_ I’m going to fry some fish we got from the lake this morning—bony, but very sweet." During their meal Roger and Lucy tried to give in instalments a description of the extraordinary circumstances which had brought them here in company. Mrs. Stott, who had fetched her sewing so that she might not be wasting time (Mr. Stott had excused himself, having urgent work to do till the evening), looked a little puzzled and not quite acquiescent over Brentham’s explanations.