father was mounted with a pack behind him, and on the top of the pack
his little daughter clad in many coloured cottons, clasping him tight
round the neck and peering inquisitively from behind his ear.

About three p.m. we reached the Lim. The road climbs to a great height,
and the peasants in their gay costumes were reaping, some of the fields
so steep that we wondered how they stood upon them; on the opposite
cliff was an old robber castle like a Rhine fortress.

The Serbian town of Prepolji introduced itself by six Turks lying by
the roadside, then there were three Turkish families, afterwards an
assorted dozen of small girls in trousers, finally, an old man doddering
along in a turban and a veiled beggar woman, who demanded backsheesh.
"Where are the Serbs?" we thought.

The Greek church looked as if it had been new built, so that the Serbs
could claim Prepolji as a Christian town, and had a biscuit tin roof not
yet rusted.

Our hotel was like that where Mr. Pickwick first met Sam Weller, a large
open court with a crazy wooden balcony at the second story, and the
bedrooms opening on to the balcony. When we opened our knapsacks to get
out washing materials, we found that the heat of the horse had melted
all the chocolate in Jan's, and it had run over everything. It was a
mess, but chocolate was precious, and every piece had to be rescued. We
had only been ten hours in the saddle, but we descended stiffly, and
were pounced on by a foolish looking man, with a head to which Jo took
immediate offence. This fellow attached himself to us during the whole
of our stay, and was an intolerable nuisance; we nicknamed him "glue
pot," and only at our moment of departure discovered that he was the