We got coffee and kaimak—­a sort of cross between sour milk and cream cheese—­and as a great honour the lady of the house, a villainously dirty-looking woman, brought us two eggs.  Jan’s was bad, but he put it aside, saying nothing, for it is impossible to explain to these people what is a “bad” egg—­all are alike to them.

We took an affectionate leave of Mike, for here we degenerated to a carriage, which was waiting us, and he rode off, dragging our tired horses behind him.

As we were getting into the carriage the dirty woman ran up and, before Jo could ward it off, planted a loving kiss on either cheek.

We flung our weary limbs upon the rusty cushions.  Our driver was a cheery fellow, who only answered “quite” to everything we said.  We drove through miles of country so stony that all the world had turned grey as though it had remembered how old it was.  The road twisted and curled about the mountains like the flourish of Corporal Trim’s stick:  below one could see the road, only half a mile off as the crow flies, but a good five miles by the curves.  We were blocked by a great hay-cart.  Our driver shouted and cursed without effect, so he climbed down from the box, and, running round the hay, slashed the driver of it with his whip.  We expected a free fight, but nothing occurred.  When the hay had modestly drawn aside, we found “only a girl.”  Poor thing! she looked rueful enough.

The road was the best we had seen in all the Balkans, white and well-surfaced like an English country highway, and at last we clattered into Nickshitch, the most important town of Northern Montenegro.  It was like a fair-sized Cornish village, with little stone houses and stone-walled gardens filled with sunflowers.

A charming old major came to the inn to do us the honour we had telegraphed for, and together we strolled about the streets.  There is a pretty Greek church at one end on a formal mound, and behind the town runs a sheer fin of rock topped by an old castle where once had lived another man who “was a gooman all to hisself;” now it is a monastery, and one of the most picturesque in Montenegro.

We dined upon beautiful trout fresh from the river, and large green figs.  Undressing, Jan found a louse in his shirt—­that came from the dirty bedroom at Shavnik evidently.  He went to bed, but his troubles were not yet over; there was another foreign presence, a presence which raised large and itching lumps.  He hunted without success for some time, but at last caught and exterminated an enormous bug.  After which there was peace.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VII

TO CETTINJE

The rain poured all night.  At five o’clock they called us, telling us not to wake up as the motor would come later.  At six they knocked again, saying—­

“Get up quickly; the carriage is at the door.”

No explanations.