All was silent, so he picked up his load and journeyed on through desert and hills, desert and hills, till he came to a lake larger still, at the end of the second month, and he sat down and ate a loaf and smoked a cigarette and sang—
"Pemba Muhori, Pemba Muhori, are you in there?
My wife has sent for your skin to wear."
All was silent, so he travelled on and on till he came to a third and bigger lake, and now he had spent three months in the way.
So he sat down on the shore and ate a loaf and smoked a cigarette and sang again, but all was silent, so he travelled on, and at the end of each month he came to a bigger lake, and he ate one loaf and smoked one cigarette.
Till, at the end of the sixth month, he came to an enormous lake, bigger than any before, and its breadth was the distance of Tabora from the coast.
And he said, "Pemba Muhori can hardly miss being in here," so he ate a loaf and lit and smoked a cigarette and then he sang—
"Pemba Muhori, Pemba Muhori, are you in there?
My wife has sent for your skin to wear."
But all was silent, so he picked up his load and went on and on, and now he had only one loaf and one cigarette and one match left.
At the end of the seventh month he came to a lake as broad as from Ujiji to Zanzibar, and on its shores was white sand, white like bleached calico.