I have more than once seen these little spirit-huts in villages, though I never on any other occasion received so straightforward an explanation of them. Once, the children who were with me objected to my approaching the hut, saying there was a _chirombo_ there. _Chirombo_ is a comprehensive word which may mean an insect, objectionable or otherwise, a lion, or other beast of prey, a mythical monster or bogy, or, simply, any animal or plant not good to eat. They may have meant the uncanny Something which was believed to have its abode there, or they may have been trying to keep out unauthorised intrusion by the fiction of a palpable _chirombo_ with claws and teeth. Whether or not they consciously think of the dead as little shadowy figures, a few inches high[8] (like the representation of the soul as it issues from the body, on some Greek vases), such was evidently the thought that suggested the erection of these miniature dwellings. Duff Macdonald says, ‘The spirit of every deceased man and woman, with the solitary exception of wizards and witches, becomes an object of religious homage.’ Of course, no one can worship all, and the chief of a village worships his immediate predecessor as the representative of all the people who have lived in the village in past times, and the whole line of his ancestors. In presenting his offering, he will say, ‘“Oh, father, I do not know all your relatives, you know them all, invite them to feast with you.” The offering is not simply for himself, but for himself and all his relatives.’ Sometimes a man approaches his deceased relatives on his own behalf; but, as a rule, it is the chief who prays and sacrifices on behalf of the village. As all the people living there are usually related to the chief, the deceased chief is the one to whom they would naturally pray; but any immigrants from elsewhere would probably pray to their own ancestors on matters connected with their own private concerns, while joining on public occasions in the recognised worship of the village god.