When he had looked about him he sat down under the shade of an overhanging bank and fanned himself with his hat, for the afternoon was hot, and he had walked fast.

At his feet the dusty ants ran about, and the high red bank before him was covered by a network of roots and fibres washed bare by the rains.

Above his head rose the clear blue African sky; at his side were the saddlebags full of women's clothing.

Gregory looked up half plaintively into the blue sky.
"Am I, am I Gregory Nazianzen Rose ?" he said.
It was also strange, he sitting there in that sloot in that up-country plain!--strange as the fantastic, changing shapes in a summer cloud.

At last, tired out, he fell asleep, with his head against the bank.