The steward boy returned with a message that “The white man want you.” I knew who the white man would be, so the steward boy was sent back, as though I had not understood, with the reiterated request to know what path led to the rest-house. After a few minutes there came from the lighted bungalow and through the darkness “the white man.” It was Mr T. H. Driver, one of the most lovable characters on the tin fields. He had been ill and could not walk without trouble, though he had the aid of a stick; yet he must undergo the effort to invite almost a stranger to food and better shelter for the night than the rest-house afforded. He then had swept out an unused shed, with cement floor, brick walls, and iron roof. It seemed a Ritz Hotel in luxury by comparison with another place of recent memory. In the shed my camp-bed was put up and to it I retired with thankfulness after dinner with Mr Driver and his staff. You may assume that there was nothing more in this than ordinary politeness, and that anybody would act similarly. I should like to be able to say so. You may think I make too much of common courtesies and small hospitalities. Travel across a country such as this and you will appreciate them, the more by contrast. I suppose a great deal depends on character and temperament, otherwise there is no understanding the difference which marks men. Not long ago I was located in a mud hut which was clean and roomy and in which I was quite happy. The second night I was informed it was wanted for someone else—a junior member of the staff of the concern—and although there was plenty of accommodation for either him or me in other buildings on the ground, the quarter given me to sleep in was of a kind that, in preference, I went to the hovel where two of my native servants—the horse boys—were passing the night, and had the bed brought there. Of course I could have had the place to myself, but the boys were there first and had made a fire to keep themselves warm during the cold hours. Had I turned them out, they could not then have secured further fuel, and to have gone into a cold hut from a warm one, with their single blanket apiece, would be dangerous to health. You may not regard highly the Englishman who puts another into the position stated, though it be merely a passing traveller. I make no grievance of the incident, unpleasant as the situation undoubtedly was. When, therefore, a T. H. Driver appears in the path, with his considerate heart, too much can scarcely be said for him.