IN THE LAND OF THE BORA. 373 



we had become at pitching, that in less than an 

 hour our lunch was cooking in the new camp. 

 The reader, I am sure, will not require to he 

 told that after this the river at once began to fall, 

 and though the rain continued for another three 

 or four days, the water never reached our old 

 camp site at all. That week was a dull and 

 depressing experience, which any one can imagine 

 when I say that the winter climate at Glavaticevo 

 is as like that of our own beloved island as possible. 

 We longed for two fine days — only two, one to 

 dry the tent, and another on which to move — but 

 we longed in vain. 



Shooting, too, was impossible in such weather, 

 but one day I did steal, and not a bad day either, 

 so perhaps it deserves a fresh chapter. 



