AN OSTRICH FARM AT MACHAKOS 



unknown, on very still days, the snowy peak of 

 Kilimanjaro peers out, sketched as faintly against 

 the sky as a soap bubble wafted upward and about 

 to disappear. Here and there on the plains kopjes 

 stand like islands, their stone tops looking as though 

 thrust (from beneath) through the smooth prairie 

 surface. To them meandered long, narrow ravines 

 full of low brush, like thin, wavering streaks of gray. 

 On these kopjes each of which had its name 

 and in these ravines we were to hunt the lions. 



We began the ascent of the cone on which dwelt 

 our hosts. It was one of those hills that seem in no 

 part steep, and yet which finally succeed in raising 

 one to a considerable height. We passed two ostrich 

 herds in charge of savages, rode through a scattered 

 native village, and so came to the farm itself, 

 situated on the very summit. 



The house consisted of three large circular huts, 

 thatched neatly with papyrus stalks, and with 

 conical roofs. These were arranged as a triangle, 

 just touching each other; and the space between 

 had been roofed over to form a veranda. We were 

 ushered in to one of these circular rooms. It was 

 spacious and contained two beds, two chairs, a 

 dresser, and a table. Its earth floor was completely 

 covered by the skins of animals. In the correspond- 

 ing room, opposite, slept our hosts; while the third 



