And what a garden it was! I have always loved a good garden,
and I could have thrown up my hands for joy when I saw Mr Mackenzie's.
First there were rows upon rows of standard European fruit-trees,
all grafted; for on top of this hill the climate was so temperate
that nearly all the English vegetables, trees, and flowers flourished
luxuriantly, even including several varieties of the apple, which,
generally, runs to wood in a warm climate and obstinately refuses
to fruit. Then there were strawberries and tomatoes (such tomatoes!),
and melons and cucumbers, and, indeed, every sort of vegetable
and fruit.

'Well, you have something like a garden!' I said, overpowered
with admiration not untouched by envy.

'Yes,' answered the missionary, 'it is a very good garden, and
has well repaid my labour; but it is the climate that I have
to thank. If you stick a peach-stone into the ground it will
bear fruit the fourth year, and a rose-cutting will bloom in
a year. It is a lovely clime.'

Just then we came to a ditch about ten feet wide, and full of
water, on the other side of which was a loopholed stone wall
eight feet high, and with sharp flints plentifully set in mortar
on the coping.

'There,' said Mr Mackenzie, pointing to the ditch and wall, 'this
is my magnum opus; at least, this and the church, which is the
other side of the house. It took me and twenty natives two years
to dig the ditch and build the wall, but I never felt safe till
it was done; and now I can defy all the savages in Africa, for