FOUR WEEKS IN FIKA 265 



made brilliant by the blossom of trees and shrubs, and 

 both are dominated by one peak which surpasses all 

 the others in beauty of outline. One is sharp and 

 rugged, with a point that looks unscaleable. The other 

 is akin to the fortress hills of the Kerri-Kerri, for above 

 a sheer face of perpendicular white cliff is a broad, 

 level space, and rising from it another peak. 



The stream winds past slopes of broken ironstone, with 

 grey- black boulders standing out amongst it — through 

 gorges that are now thickly wooded, now bare. Some- 

 times there is a high bank of rock, and above it hang 

 the fresh green and long golden clusters of cassia, re- 

 calling the laburnums of home. Beneath lie herds of 

 goats, seeking shade from the fierce sun. Down the 

 valley men and women pass, bearing faggots on their 

 heads, which they are bringing to Fika from the woods 

 that surround their ancient capital of Daniski. On the 

 tops and slopes of the hills circles of stones denote where 

 dwellings have been — for people sought safety on the 

 tops of the hills in the bygone days of feuds and wars. 

 There they could command the approach of an enemy, 

 and when they were too weak to resist, could fly to 

 some other mountain fastness. Deep cups that have 

 no outlet lie between the hills, and on their green- 

 swards the rock-dwellers frolic, even as they do in our 

 Scottish corries. 



They are well known, these little people ; they often 

 meet together to play some simple air on their guitars, 

 and on a still night their music is heard long distances 

 away. Their tiny footprints are found by those who 

 frequent the hills, but for him who walks softly there 

 is more. Perhaps he will find a lizard transfixed by a 

 fairy dart ; or maybe he will see the wee mannikins, 



