Niger

Evening of this day brought a less agreeable
adventure. He came to the village of Song. The
inhabitants closed the gates, refusing him admit¬
tance. Lion-marks were all about the road he
had traversed to the village, and Mungo, with a
sinking heart, determined to keep as close as he
could to the gate. Perhaps the lions would not
venture so near. He tethered his horse and lay
down under a tree. Presently, very weary, he fell
asleep. But about ten o’clock the hunting roar of
a lion aroused him, and, unarmed and weak for
lack of proper food, his courage went. He banged
desperately at the gates of Song. Song’s guardians
told him to begone ; then relented, and said they
would question the duti. The lion growled,
briskly, even nearer. Mungo heard the pad of its
great paws, and the rustle of the beast in the long
grasses. It stood outside the range of his vision,
tail-switching. He bolted back to his tree and
climbed high.
Song, yawning, wakened its headman. Yawning,
but refreshed by a nap, he consented to come to the
gates. Mungo was hailed down from his tree, and
complimented (perhaps mistakenly) on the mod¬
eration of his language. He could be no Moor,
they were convinced, for no Moor yet ever waited
any time at the gate of a village without cursing
the inhabitants.
Mungo felt an unexpected fellow-feeling with
Moors.
In spite of the sour wetness of the flooded lands,
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