“And don’t you wish to go into the world?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when I get lonely.  But perhaps my father is right—­perhaps it would frighten and bewilder me.  At any rate he would never return to civilization; it is his idea, you know, although I am sure I do not know where he got it from, nor why he cannot bear that our name should be spoken.  In short, Mr. Quatermain, we do not make our lives, we must take them as we find them.  Have you done your breakfast?  Let us go out, and I will show you our home.”

I rose and went to my sleeping-place to fetch my hat.  When I returned, Mr. Carson—­for after all that was his name, though he would never allow it to be spoken—­had come into the hut.  He felt better now, he said, and would accompany us on our walk if Stella would give him an arm.

So we started, and after us came Hendrika with Tota and old Indaba-zimbi whom I found sitting outside as fresh as paint.  Nothing could tire that old man.

The view from the platform was almost as beautiful as that from the lower ground looking up to the peak.  The marble kraals, as I have said, faced west, consequently all the upper terrace lay in the shadow of the great peak till nearly eleven o’clock in the morning—­a great advantage in that warm latitude.  First we walked through the garden, which was beautifully cultivated, and one of the most productive that I ever saw.  There were three or four natives working in it, and they all saluted my host as “Baba,” or father.  Then we visited the other two groups of marble huts.  One of these was used for stables and outbuildings, the other as storehouses, the centre hut having been, however, turned into a chapel.  Mr. Carson was not ordained, but he earnestly tried to convert the natives, most of whom were refugees who had come to him for shelter, and he had practised the more elementary rites of the church for so long that I think he began to believe that he really was a clergyman.  For instance, he always married those of his people who would consent to a monogamous existence, and baptized their children.

When we had examined those wonderful remains of antiquity, the marble huts, and admired the orange trees, the vines and fruits which thrive like weeds in this marvellous soil and climate, we descended to the next platform, and saw the farming operations in full swing.  I think that it was the best farm I have ever seen in Africa.  There was ample water for purposes of irrigation, the grass lands below gave pasturage for hundreds of head of cattle and horses, and, for natives, the people were most industrious.  Moreover, the whole place was managed by Mr. Carson on the co-operative system; he only took a tithe of the produce—­indeed, in this land of teeming plenty, what was he to do with more?  Consequently the tribesmen, who, by the way, called themselves the “Children of Thomas,” were able to accumulate considerable wealth.  All their disputes were referred to their “father,” and he also was judge of offences and crimes.  Some were punished by imprisonment, whipping, and loss of goods, other and graver transgressions by expulsion from the community, a fiat which to one of these favoured natives must have seemed as heavy as the decree that drove Adam from the Garden of Eden.