He answered, “I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you.”

I turned to the Arabs, took off my hat to them in response to the saluting chorus of “Yambos” I received, and the Doctor introduced them to me by name.  Then, oblivious of the crowds, oblivious of the men who shared with me my dangers, we—­Livingstone and I—­ turned our faces towards his house.  He pointed to the veranda, or rather, mud platform, under the broad overhanging eaves; he pointed to his own particular seat, which I saw his age and experience in Africa had suggested, namely, a straw mat, with a goatskin over it, and another skin nailed against the wall to protect his back from contact with the cold mud.  I protested against taking this seat, which so much more befitted him than I, but the Doctor would not yield:  I must take it.

We were seated—­the Doctor and I—­with our backs to the wall.  The Arabs took seats on our left.  More than a thousand natives were in our front, filling the whole square densely, indulging their curiosity, and discussing the fact of two white men meeting at Ujiji—­one just come from Manyuema, in the west, the other from Unyanyembe, in the east.

Conversation began.  What about?  I declare I have forgotten.  Oh! we mutually asked questions of one another, such as “How did you come here?” and “Where have you been all this long time?—­the world has believed you to be dead.  “Yes, that was the way it began:  but whatever the Doctor informed me, and that which I communicated to him, I cannot correctly report, for I found myself gazing at him, conning the wonderful figure and face of the man at whose side I now sat in Central Africa.  Every hair of his head and beard, every wrinkle of his face, the wanness of his features, and the slightly wearied look he wore, were all imparting intelligence to me—­the knowledge I craved for so much ever since I heard the words, “Take what you want, but find Livingstone.”  What I saw was deeply interesting intelligence to me, and unvarnished truth.  I was listening and reading at the same time.  What did these dumb witnesses relate to me?

Oh, reader, had you been at my side on this day in Ujiji, how eloquently could be told the nature of this man’s work!  Had you been there but to see and hear!  His lips gave me the details; lips that never lie.  I cannot repeat what he said; I was too much engrossed to take my note-book out, and begin to stenograph his story.  He had so much to say that he began at the end, seemingly oblivious of the fact that five or six years had to be accounted for.  But his account was oozing out; it was growing fast into grand proportions—­ into a most marvellous history of deeds.

The Arabs rose up, with a delicacy I approved, as if they intuitively knew that we ought to be left to ourselves.  I sent Bombay with them to give them the news they also wanted so much to know about