THE EPISODE OF THE STONE THAT LOOKED ABOUT IT Hilda took me back with her to the embryo farm where she had pitched her tent for the moment; a rough, wild place.

It lay close to the main road from Salisbury to Chimoio.
Setting aside the inevitable rawness and newness of all things Rhodesian, however, the situation itself was not wholly unpicturesque.

A ramping rock or tor of granite, which I should judge at a rough guess to extend to an acre in size, sprang abruptly from the brown grass of the upland plain.

It rose like a huge boulder.

Its summit was crowned by the covered grave of some old Kaffir chief--a rude cairn of big stones under a thatched awning.