more room than his size warrants.  He has a flat, almost plate-like face, with pallid blue eyes which seemed to focus some way beyond the object of his regard.  Were his moustache larger he would be rather like Lord Kitchener, and he was very pleased at the obvious compliment.  He poses a little, moves seldom but suddenly, and shoots his remarks as though words of command.  He was very kind to us, and was immensely astonished at Jo’s Serbian, holding up his hands and saying “Kako” at every one of her speeches.  He suggested that poor Bogami should be beaten, but we begged him off.  Captain Voukotitch, the husband of a day, was appointed to be our guide for the morrow—­because Jo spoke Serbian.

After tea we went up to the bubbly mosque, which was in reality the Greek church.  We entered a large gate; on the one side of a yard was the church, and on the other a big two-storied rest-house, where one could lodge while paying devotions or doing pilgrimages.  Its long balconies were filled with country folk all come for the festival, and who were feasting and laughing as though the war did not exist.  The courtyard was filled with men and women in Bosnian costumes, white and dark red embroideries.  Through the open door of the church one could see the silhouettes of the peasants bowing before the Ikons and relics.  It was almost dark, and one man began to play a little haunting melody upon a wooden pipe, but though they linked arms and shuffled their feet, the young men did not dance.

At supper the Shadow revealed a quaint sense of humour, and so to bed.

The next morning was lovely, and we started at seven with the youngest Voukotitch and the others.  Some officers had lent us their horses, and Voukotitch had proudly produced his English saddle for Jo.  On the road the spirit of mischief entered him.

“You can ride all right,” he said; “wouldn’t you like to go to the nearest machine-gun to the Austrian lines?”

“Rather,” said Jo.

“You’ll have to do some stiff riding, though.  I know the major, and he is bored to death.  He’ll let us.”

“But what about the bullets?” said the Shadow.

In time the major was produced, emerging from a cottage by the roadside, other officers with him, and we had a merry coffee party in an arbour.  One told Jo that he was a lawyer.  The few Montenegrins who had the misfortune to be educated were not allowed to serve at the front, but he had been lucky enough through influence to be allowed to take a commission.  He had not seen much serious fighting, however, as no move had been made for several months.

Then we tackled the hills.  “Come along,” said the major, cheerfully; and his horse’s nose went down and its tail went up, and off it slid downhill.  We had seen the Italian officers do such things on the cinematograph, but little thought that we should be in the same position.  We supposed it would be all right.  Jo’s horse became nearly vertical, and she sat back against its tail.  Jan followed.  Sometimes a sheet of rock was across the path—­then we slid; sometimes the sand became very soft—­we slid again.  Then a muddy bit, and the horse squelched down on his hind quarters.