The sum agreed upon would have been, under ordinary circumstances, more than sufficient, but before proceeding far I discovered that the circumstances were by no means ordinary, and I began to understand the pantomimic gesticulation which had puzzled me during the negotiations.  Heavy rain had fallen without interruption for several days, and now the track on which we were travelling could not, without poetical license, be described as a road.  In some parts it resembled a water-course, in others a quagmire, and at least during the first half of the journey I was constantly reminded of that stage in the work of creation when the water was not yet separated from the dry land.  During the few moments when the work of keeping my balance and preventing my baggage from being lost did not engross all my attention, I speculated on the possibility of inventing a boat-carriage, to be drawn by some amphibious quadruped.  Fortunately our two lean, wiry little horses did not object to being used as aquatic animals.  They took the water bravely, and plunged through the mud in gallant style.  The telega in which we were seated—­a four-wheeled skeleton cart—­did not submit to the ill-treatment so silently.  It creaked out its remonstrances and entreaties, and at the more difficult spots threatened to go to pieces; but its owner understood its character and capabilities, and paid no attention to its ominous threats.  Once, indeed, a wheel came off, but it was soon fished out of the mud and replaced, and no further casualty occurred.

The horses did their work so well that when about midday we arrived at a village, I could not refuse to let them have some rest and refreshment—­all the more as my own thoughts had begun to turn in that direction.

The village, like villages in that part of the country generally, consisted of two long parallel rows of wooden houses.  The road—­if a stratum of deep mud can be called by that name—­formed the intervening space.  All the houses turned their gables to the passerby, and some of them had pretensions to architectural decoration in the form of rude perforated woodwork.  Between the houses, and in a line with them, were great wooden gates and high wooden fences, separating the courtyards from the road.  Into one of these yards, near the farther end of the village, our horses turned of their own accord.

“An inn?” I said, in an interrogative tone.

The driver shook his head and said something, in which I detected the word “friend.”  Evidently there was no hostelry for man and beast in the village, and the driver was using a friend’s house for the purpose.

The yard was flanked on the one side by an open shed, containing rude agricultural implements which might throw some light on the agriculture of the primitive Aryans, and on the other side by the dwelling-house and stable.  Both the house and stable were built of logs, nearly cylindrical in form, and placed in horizontal tiers.