TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 103 
Our pony shied— actually pretending to possess nerves 
— at a porcupine, who suddenly rustled his quills like 
the upsetting of a box of pens. The oryx head fell off 
and the mettlesome steed backed on to it, damaging 
the horn near the tip against a sharp stone. A small 
kink, but a pity. Cecily made the pony walk up to our 
friend of the quills, but as it seemed likely to result 
in the wolf being chucked off also, we abandoned 
horse-training notions for the present. 
Getting back to camp, we found the men lining up 
for their devotions, so waited patiently until they were 
over. Everybody’s creed, or form of it, should be 
respected, because each separate religion, multitu- 
dinous though they are, is but one religion, and a part 
of the vast whole. The seeming differences in all sects 
are merely the individual temperamental superstitions. 
It does not matter, therefore, if we worship Allah or 
Joss, Buddha or Mrs. Eddy. “ What’s in a name ? 
That which we call a rose by any other name would 
smell as sweet.” To certain people certain names for 
religion are necessary — to others the “ Religion 
Universal ” serves. Now, our chef belonged to — I am 
sure — the Peculiar People, and didn’t know it, and 
called himself a Mussulman of the Shafai sect. He 
must have been peculiar to think he deceived us into 
believing he was a cook, ever had been, or ever would 
be. Some people are born cooks, some achieve 
cooking, and some have cooking thrust upon them. 
Our satellite was of the latter kind. 
We bought a couple of sheep that night from a 
passing caravan, but told the men they would be the 
