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He had not expected us to start so early, and apologised for “calling in his nightgown”—the only alternative to letting us pass his “inhospitable doors.” I begged that I might take a photograph, and, leaving all our belongings upon the wayside, we readily set out to climb the mountain, while he shouted the news of our approach to hasten the preparations of his wife. As a matter of fact, the difficulties of the ascent were quite sufficient to give her ample time; and when we reached the house at last, the pure, fresh air (that struck cold in spite of the brilliant sunshine) inspired a hearty welcome to “rest” after so stiff a climb!

The commandant (who is richly bronzed by outdoor life in the sun) seemed quite content with his two-roomed cabin among the hills, though one could sense the tragic experiences he would never obtrude. Three of his children had perished from cold and hardship, and I caught anxious glances towards the two remaining, fine, sturdy-looking little creatures as they were. His mother-in-law, busily intent on grinding the corn, bore further witness to their hidden struggles.