"
We thanked him and wandered into the village cafe. An old man with black
sprouting eye-brows a la Nick Winter, was sitting there. He had walked
for five days, eating only apples.
"Very good food too," he said. "Here is my luggage."
He pointed to a knotted handkerchief containing a tiny loaf of bread
which he had just acquired. His goal was a monastery in Montenegro,
where he said they would house and feed him for the winter in exchange
for a little work.
At 11.30 three horses were brought. Three more were promised, so we
reluctantly decided to start the next day. There was nothing to do.
Our carriages went. We gave the corporal a card-house to take back to
Rashka with little faith that he would not try to stick to it. He had
not returned the boots to their owner, so we took them from him and
gave them to their rightful owner, and handed over to the corporal a
spare pair of our own boots to keep him honest.
At dawn Stajitch, who had been sleeping in style upon a friend's table,
came to say we had six horses, but a professor had turned up in the
night and was coming with us.
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