'And it is very glad that we are to see a white face again, let
me tell you,' put in the lady -- a charming and refined-looking
person.

We took off our hats in acknowledgment, and proceeded to introduce
ourselves.

'And now,' said Mr Mackenzie, 'you must all be hungry and weary;
so come on, gentlemen, come on, and right glad we are to see
you. The last white who visited us was Alphonse -- you will
see Alphonse presently -- and that was a year ago.'

Meanwhile we had been walking up the slope of the hill, the lower
portion of which was fenced off, sometimes with quince fences
and sometimes with rough stone walls, into Kaffir gardens, just
now full of crops of mealies, pumpkins, potatoes, etc. In the
corners of these gardens were groups of neat mushroom-shaped
huts, occupied by Mr Mackenzie's mission natives, whose women
and children came pouring out to meet us as we walked. Through
the centre of the gardens ran the roadway up which we were walking.
It was bordered on each side by a line of orange trees, which,
although they had only been planted ten years, had in the lovely
climate of the uplands below Mt Kenia, the base of which is about
5,000 feet above the coastline level, already grown to imposing
proportions, and were positively laden with golden fruit. After
a stiffish climb of a quarter of a mile or so -- for the hillside
was steep -- we came to a splendid quince fence, also covered
with fruit, which enclosed, Mr Mackenzie told us, a space of
about four acres of ground that contained his private garden,
house, church, and outbuildings, and, indeed, the whole hilltop.