As we stood around the camp fire drinking our cocoa a queer ragged old Albanian crept up and watched us with a smile. He was the owner of the house near by, whose palings we had almost looted. We offered him cocoa, which he liked immensely; and asked him about the road to Tutigne. He said—
"There is a road for carts—I know it."
"Will you show it us?" said Jo.
He gave a wild yell and ran away, waving a stick.
"What ——?!!!! ——"
It was nothing, only the pigs had invaded his cabbage patch. He came back later with an enormous apple, which he presented to Jo.
"Have you apples for sale?"
He shook his head, saying "Ima, ima."
We bought several pounds, arranged with him to guide us later to the carriage road, and hurried into the town to buy provisions.