Chapter III: Part 3

"Of course, of course," returned Mr. Treby absently.

"Then whatever you may have heard about me from your Nottingham friends, you will not repeat it here."

"I!" returned Jack's father, rousing. "I know nothing about you, an utter stranger. I can have nothing to tell. It is years since I left Nottingham."

"It may be useless to ask you to believe me, when I say it was nothing but my own abominable carelessness made me the victim of circumstances," he went on bitterly. "And those who called themselves my friends chose rather to expatriate me than investigate."

"Young man," interrupted Jack's father, "I ask you for no confession; but if you wish to confide in me, every word you utter will be safe. But I must remind you beforehand that a man driven to asking help of his neighbours is not one to look to, to give it."

"You think me a flat," muttered Algarkirke.

"I think you a little too verdant," returned the other. "Whatever your bygones may have been, you have a chance of beginning a new life out here. Do not let your own self-consciousness spoil it. Bury the past, or retrieve it. Remember:

"'Men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.'"

"Could I dig diamonds with you at Kimberley?" was the eager answer to these words of fatherly advice.

"Did you ever use spade or pick?" asked Mr. Treby in his turn.

But Algarkirke shook his head.

"That answers your own question," returned his companion. "Stick to what you can do. You've no father, my lad, or you would not have been pitchforked into these wilds and left to sink or swim. All you brought with you is lost and gone? So I expected. I only wish I could help you."

"Your little boy told me you wanted to buy a coat. I've one to spare," said Algarkirke in a jerky tone, as if the words were forced out one by one. "I left England for Amsterdam—I had a merchant friend who traded with that city—but I was soon shipped off to Africa with a letter of recommendation to a Dutch clergyman at Pretoria. I lived on my money as long as it lasted. I was in the throes of despair when the grand church-going week came round. I shall never forget my first sight of the Boers bringing up their families from long distances in the country to join in the nachtmaal * service at their church.

"A bright idea occurred to my clerical friend. He found out that a schoolmaster was wanting in this district, and recommended me to the post. It was a civil way of freeing himself from a burden. I journeyed back in one of the Boer's wagons, and began the hopeless task of teaching the young idea how to shoot in broken Dutch. It is irksome drudgery; for those Dutch boys are worse than the Irishman's pig; they will neither be led nor driven. But the worst of it is, I have a few days now and then between the turns, and how to keep myself I do not know, until the quarter-day comes to take my promised fees, small as they are."

* Nachtmaal ("night-meal"), the Lord's Supper.

"'In matters of commerce the fault of the Dutch
Is in giving too little and asking too much,'"

laughed Mr. Treby. "Show me this coat, and I'll give you what I can for it."

Algarkirke went into the room for his portmanteau, which he unstrapped softly, for fear of disturbing Jack. But the little fellow was wide awake again, and very anxious to see the coat his father was going to buy. It was of gray traveller's tweed, a little stained with salt-water, but not much the worse for wear. But, alas no endeavours could squeeze Mr. Treby's well-developed shoulders into a garment made to fit young Algarkirke's slim figure. His disappointment was excessive. He looked at the half-sovereign in Mr. Treby's hand and bit his lip.

"Like my wretched luck!" he exclaimed. "But stop! I have another that I left behind me at Inderwick—a light dust-coat, too big for me. Neither is it properly my own; a friend lent it to me one wet day just before I left England. It was packed up with my luggage by mistake. 'Keep it,' he wrote, 'it is not worth returning.' You could wear that, I am sure."

"Can you let me have it before I start?" asked Mr. Treby.

"The people here have promised to send me on to the next farm; it is a part of our bargain. I will ask the man who drives me to bring it back, if that will do. I leave here the day after tomorrow," said Algarkirke, closing his fingers over the gold Mr. Treby dropped into his hand.

His exuberant gratitude was checked by the quiet remark, "We must all do as we would be done by. The strangers in the post-cart helped me yesterday, and I'm glad to be able to help you to-night."

VIII.

_JACK'S FEVER._

THE herbal tea Tante Milligen had provided for the little invalid cooled the fever in his veins. When the morning came Jack was sleeping heavily.

But his father could no longer watch beside him. He was obliged to return to his own farm to meet the police, who were expected to arrive that day. He was quite sure that a sufficient party of mounted police would be told off for the defence of the district directly Wilton's report reached head-quarters.

The affair would be investigated; a repetition guarded against; but should he see his sheep again? Mr. Treby's heart failed him there. He knew it was wiser to leave the burning ashes of his house untouched until the police had been. He wanted to bring back Tottie to nurse his Jack now her husband had returned. But Tante Milligen said "No;" she had Hottentots enough in the house already. She did not want one that had been spoiled by these English to come there to upset her girls. The poor child should not want for proper care; she would see to that.

The Boeress was in anything but a happy frame of mind; for the Kafir girl had run away in the night, and Tante Milligen declared she had lost her right hand.

In circumstances like his, Mr. Treby could say no more. He knew he ought to feel very grateful to his Dutch neighbours for their rough and ready hospitality, and he could not endure the thought of encroaching on their kindness.

But he could not leave his boy without a word. Everything was ready for his departure, when at last Jack opened his eyes, half-frightened at his strange surroundings. But the delirious fancies of the night were over, although he felt weak and faint.

Mr. Treby began to hope it was but a slight attack of fever, and that with quiet and care he would soon be better. He was afraid to let Jack talk even about Zyl's garden, or what a naughty bird Vickel had been; and would not let him fret over the poor Black Antelope, assuring him the Boer's anger was soon over, and he had asked her master not to punish her any more.

So with a parting kiss, and a promise to come back as soon as he could, he left his boy once more.

He had not seen Algarkirke that morning, for the schoolmaster had fallen asleep in the garden, under the shadow of Zyl's pent-house, which had been constructed out of the remains of his own broken umbrella—a gift he had bestowed upon the ungovernable urchin to bribe him to sit still during his first attempt at teaching, which he was so terribly afraid would be construed into failure.

With a few forcible words about redeeming the time, Tante Milligen hunted him out of his retreat, ignoring the fact that he had omitted to put in an appearance at their early Dutch breakfast.

"That was his own lookout," she said; so Genderen was ordered to place the books on the table.

Every now and then Tante Milligen put her head in at the door of the sit-kamé, churn-stick in hand, "just to keep 'em at it; for they couldn't afford to pay their money for nothing."

The poor tutor, who was all the worse for his night-watch, yawned in sympathy with his scholars. Mr. Treby had set the door of Jack's room wide open, to give him all the air he could. When Sannie caught sight of his curly head among the pillows, she slid off her chair, and gathering the letters he had cut out for her in her lap, she trotted to his bed. She waddled round the slaap-kamé like a little duck, until she came to the head of the bed where Jack was lying. There was a pout on the rosy lips, and recent ominous catch in her breath, suggestive of distress; for Sannie, like her mother, was sorely distressed at the disappearance of the Black Antelope, who had fondled her from her birth. One little fat hand unclosed and displayed a bit of a dirty card; then the precious letters in her lap were spread out before him, intimating the young lady's desire to repeat the pleasure of yesterday.

Jack thought of his knife, and sprang out of bed to search for it. He shook his pockets inside out, but oh! His knife was nowhere to be found. He put his hand to his head to try to think. Yes, he remembered distinctly. He was sure now that German shepherd had picked it up.

Sannie was frightened when she saw him crawling under the bed, for he thought he would look everywhere about the floor; so she set up a cry, which brought the old Hottentot woman to see what was the matter. Without more ado, she drove out Sannie, seized Jack by the arms and put him back into bed, charging him with imperative gestures to keep there.

Tante Milligen followed with some more of that odious herbal tea, which she compelled him to drink. Then mistress and maid stood over him in earnest consultation. A huge pair of scissors was produced from Tante Milligen's capacious pocket. He hoped she was not going to cut off his head, and felt enormously relieved when he found it was only his hair she wanted. He wondered what she could want it for. Oh, it was wretched to be with people who could not understand a single word. Yet he almost laughed when he saw the shrivelled yellow fingers of the Hottentot sweeping away his curls with evident satisfaction.

"They would stuff a good pin-cushion," he thought.

But they left the heap on the floor, and covered his head with a cabbage-leaf. It seemed so ridiculous, but he was obliged to submit. Then the room was darkened, and the heavy curtains of the bed were closely drawn, and he heard the door shut as they went away. He thought he was suffocating, but at length the darkness and the quiet melted into dreamy sleep. By-and-by they brought him some brandy-posset, which he could not drink. In that darkened room the day seemed like night. No one came near him but Tante Milligen, with the cow's horn in her hand; and in spite of his wry faces, she always contrived to get the thin end of the horn between his teeth, and then there was nothing for it but to gulp down the bitter draught it contained as quickly as he could.

Jack believed he had had seven nights already, and yet his father did not come. Algarkirke strolled in at last, with his pipe in his mouth, and roundly asserted there had been no night at all yet, although he hoped one was coming.

Then Jack unfolded his idea about the pin-cushions, and confided to the schoolmaster how much he would like do the stuffing. "It is my own hair, so they might let me," he added, a little annoyed by the laugh with which this suggestion was received. Then he remembered his knife, and entreated Mr. Algarkirke to look for it in the sit-kamé. "I know," he persisted, "that German picked it up; but where could he put it?"

Algarkirke promised to tell Zyl, and persuade him to undertake the search. But his promise was of the pie-crust order, made to be broken. He wished to pacify the sick child, but, pitying the poor Black Antelope, he did not wish to cast a suspicion on any one else. He seemed sensitive on the subject, and shrank from it, even with Jack; so he did not mention the knife to any one.

Mr. Algarkirke was soon superseded by the Hottentot, who sat down on the foot of the bed and stared at Jack, who shut his eyes so that he should not see her. Then he seemed to feel all round him the flames of his burning home; and yet it was not his Tottie crawling out of the sloot, but the ugly face of this stranger Hottentot that was staring at him between the curtains of the bed.

To all his feverish mutterings she responded with a "Jah! Jah!" which sounded more like the cluck of a hen than a woman's voice. But she gave him mutton-broth and grapes, and forced him to lie still; for Jack had an unconquerable longing to get up and walk about. He told her again and again he must go and meet his father, but he might as well have spoken to a post.

One thing he was truly grateful for. The Hottentot armed herself with a long bough, and every now and then set vigorously to work to drive away the flies, which had teased him so the night before. Yet the sleep he longed for refused to come, until he heard the lowing of the cows as they were driven in for milking, and then the wakefulness of the night was exchanged for a drowsy stupor, which lasted through the glaring noonday heat.

"They have made me a bed in the oven," moaned Jack, when the schoolmaster looked in on the third day to bid him "good-bye."

"I shall send the coat," he said; "I hope it will fit your father. I shall miss your little English face when I come to Jaarsveldt next time, for I suppose then you will be sifting diamonds at Kimberley. You must learn a little of their wonderful Dutch patience from your new friends. I hope your father will come back before I start."

But the young Englishman's wish was not gratified. Mr. Treby did not return until the next morning.

At the sight of his father, Jack revived. The fever had turned at the third day, and Jack began to rally. Mr. Treby's gratitude to the worthy "tante" for her motherly care knew no bounds. She had saved his child. But when he talked of taking him away, Van Immerseel laid his great hand on his arm and shook the other in his face, with a good-natured laugh, which tempered a flat refusal.

Tante Milligen summoned her ancient Hottentot, and five black faces appeared above the half-door of the sit-kamé to back her protestation and convince the anxious father he must leave his child where he was or a relapse was certain.

"What do they all mean?" asked Mr. Treby, turning for enlightenment to the German, who had been summoned by Zyl to speak the decisive word.

But Walt pressed before him. He had brought the Englishman home. He had taken to Jack. Algarkirke had repeated to him many more details about the fire, which he had gathered from Mr. Treby's conversation in the night. He knew now that poor little Jack had been barely rescued from the flames.

During the schoolmaster's three days' sojourn at Jaarsveldt, Walt had been picking up English as diligently as the players on old Tom Tiddler's ground are reported to pick up gold and silver.

He pointed to the door of the slaap-kaamé where Jack was lying, and asserted most energetically: "Your boy there very bad boy. We make a full stop of him. All right. You put him in there," he added, pointing to Mr. Treby's waggon, which was drawn up outside the gate. "Wohl—" Alas! His English was exhausted; he rubbed his head, imitated the jog-trot of the oxen, and the jolting and shaking of the lumbering waggon.

Dead set at last for want of a word, which Otto could not or would not supply, he snatched the stick from his brother's hand, and drew the outline of a coffin-lid upon the clayey floor. It was but a lame attempt at speaking English, yet for all that he had made his meaning forcible and plain "Take him away?" he asked, making an impressive pause, then by way of answer to his own inquiry, he pointed to his mother and her coloured maids, as if he were counting them on his fingers. Mr. Treby was almost deafened by the babel of tongues around him, whilst Otto fairly laughed when Walt interpreted this clamour of female tongues as "One big no."

Mr. Treby brushed a tear-drop from his eye and shook hands all round. So it was settled that Jack must be left behind. His father's heart was touched by the rough kindliness of his Dutch neighbours.

The loft over the end of the house to the farm-yard happened just now to be empty. Van Immerseel kept his wool there. He had sold it all out, so that the loft would not be wanted until the next sheep-shearing; and Walt suggested that Mr. Treby's things would be quite safe in there until his return. For of course he must unload his waggon before he could let it to his neighbour at Scarsdorp.

He had raked out a few things from the ashes the day before—pieces of iron, hooks, and hinges; the lump of lead into which his bullets had melted; and more than all, the blackened and misshapen contents of his purse. Would his money pass? He could hardly tell. There were two sovereigns sticking together, and the smaller silver pieces had run into a shapeless lump; but the half-crowns, being more solid, were less injured.

Zyl came to help him to unload, whilst Sannie sat at the foot of the wooden ladder watching their proceedings. There was no time to be lost, for Mr. Treby knew that his thirteen oxen would be longer on the road than when he had fourteen, and he wanted to leave everything as straight as he could for Seco and Tottie. But the thought of parting from his little Jack weighed heavily on his heart, for he could not tell how long he should be gone. Vickel, in her joy at having her master back again, insisted on perching on his shoulder, and pecking from his hand, much to Zyl's amusement.

Whilst they were still busy packing in the loft, a messenger arrived from Scarsdorp with the final order for Mr. Treby. He must be ready with his waggon in the morning, when the bearer of the message would return with him.

"That is a fine bird of yours, master," laughed the man, as Vickel saluted him with her loudest scream, "and a valuable one. Nothing so quick as an ostrich to detect a stranger's presence. Why, she will be worth twenty pounds of anybody's money when she begins to lay. A brood of chicks like herself will prove a little fortune. They would be worth ten pounds each as soon as they are out of the shell."

"You think so?" cried Mr. Treby, brightening. "I do not know much about ostrich management. I brought this one up to be a guard about the place. She has cost me nothing, for she lives on the wild rosemary and scrubby grass that the sheep won't eat. If it had not been for my boy, I believe I should sold her for a very small sum in my strait."

"Sell her," exclaimed the messenger, "with ostrich feathers selling at £23 the pound, and she just coming into profit! No, no."

Mr. Treby stroked the fond bird's satin breast as he made her dismount. Could it indeed be true? He thought of the summer morning when one of the wild-looking Kafirs, who were helping him to reap his little wheat-field, had found the ostrich's nest, and had given one of the chicks to Jack for a pet and plaything. Well, he intent upon his sheep had not thought much about her value certainly. He thanked the man for his advice, feeling as if all unawares, he had put his foot on the first step of the ascending ladder of fortune.

"That is news for Jack," he thought, casting a critical glance over his tall favourite, who was now enjoying herself picking a bone like a dog. The bird had wonderfully improved. It was Genderen's bowl of barley night and morning which had wrought the change, but Mr. Treby knew nothing about that. He concluded Vickel got her own living here as she did at home, browsing on the sandy veldt, or he would not have left her at Jaarsveldt.

"Come, Jack," he said, when he told his boy of his intended departure. "Your feathered queen is to make our fortune, according to this man's talk. So it may be a providential thing this illness of yours. It is forcing me to leave you behind, and I should not wonder if you learn a good deal about ostrich management from the Immerseels by the time I come back. They say we might have cut Vickel's feathers this very summer, if they had not been scorched."

It was worth something to bring the sparkle of happiness back into the boy's sunken eyes, as he listened to the comforting assurance that to part with Vickel would be like selling the goose which laid the golden eggs.

"I tell you what, Jack," continued his father; "when we come back from Kimberley, we must buy her a mate of Van Immerseel. They might pay better than the sheep."

Whilst Mr. Treby was thus endeavouring to soothe and cheer the feverish child, he heard an unusual bustle, and looking out of the window, saw three horsemen fully armed, and covered with the summer dust, ride in at the gate. Their strong young horses were flecked with foam, as if they had been travelling fast and far. Van Immerseel's hand was on the bridle of the foremost of the three, an aged Boer, with hair like snow and a frame of iron. They were talking eagerly.

Out ran Mr. Treby, expecting to hear of some fresh outrage that would cap his own, but the few words which caught his ear convinced him that the firing of his lonely homestead was the sole subject of their earnest discussion.

"Ah! Here he comes," exclaimed the old man, who could speak English fairly well. "Ik Van Niepert," he continued, stretching out a hand to Mr. Treby that was the masculine counterpart of Tante Milligen's own.

The Englishman felt as if his fingers would be crushed in the hearty hand-grip which ensued.

"The scare has spread, as these Kafir scares always do, like wildfire. It reached us last night. Farm-house in flames—Jaarsveldt for a certainty, as we all thought. So, as I have been telling my son-in-law here," (and the big hand came down with a slap on Van Immerseel's shoulder which would have made Mr. Treby reel), "with that fear in our heads, it was not long before the rifles were loaded and the horses saddled, and on we've pushed; and I could have sworn we heard the thud of the bullets as we drew near. Thought you were having to fight off the black beggars, as I've done many a time when Milligen was a lass at home."

Van Niepert's sons, two powerful-looking men, with slow tongues and stolid countenances, confirmed their father's words with an assenting grunt, as they dismounted, leaned their saddles against the wall of the house, and turned their horses loose in the yard.

Out ran the children to welcome their grandfather and uncles, with noisy joy, whilst Mr. Treby was explaining the real facts of the case as briefly and clearly as he could. He had heard of Van Niepert as a leading man among the Boers, whose word had had great weight in the conferences between these old Dutch settlers and the British Government, and that he had tried to maintain the friendly relations between them.

IX.

_HOW TANTE MILLIGEN MANAGED._

HOW to house so many guests in Jaarsveldt was the question that was troubling Tante Milligen's hospitable mind. Walt and his brother were at once relegated to the threshing-floor in the great barn, where a bed of clean straw was prepared in haste. Walt rolled up his coat without more ado, and lay down, as he had done many a night after a late dance when the house was full. But the spare slaap-kamé must be prepared for Van Niepert, who was treated with great respect by his daughter's family.

One uncle would keep watch with the shepherd until daybreak, when his brother would exchange with him; therefore Walt's vacant bed would serve for both. But what to do with the little English boy—that was Tante Milligen's difficulty. She thought of sending him in Walt's arms to the shepherd's hut, whose bed would, of course, be unoccupied.

"And give me the fever," said Otto with a glooming brow, for he had just overheard Van Niepert recommending his son-in-law to get rid of that German fellow. He might be bully uppermost, but he was certain he was coward underneath. "Get this Englishman to mind your sheep," he added. "He would have been a match for those black rascals single-handed if he had not been frightened off by his boy's danger. You can make it better worth his while than going to dig for diamonds. You say this is just another Kafir scare; but what safeguard have you that it won't be repeated? Answer me that."

Mr. Treby was quick to notice the change in Otto's manner towards him; and getting a hint about the sleeping difficulty, cut it through by proposing to make a bed for Jack in the wool-loft, where he intended to pass the night himself.

To Jack the exchange was delightful, for the loft was cool and still. Mr. Treby left the upper half of the door wide open. The silvery radiance of the African moon fell full upon the slanting roof, and the refreshing night-breeze seemed like new life to the weary child after the choking heat of "that horrid oven."

All the heterogeneous remains of Mr. Treby's belongings were piled in order on the sloping side. Jack's little truckle-bed was placed where the wall was highest, and by it stood the great black traveling-chest Mr. Treby had rescued from the fire. He was kneeling down examining its contents in the moonlight.

"This was your mother's chest, my boy," he said, "and when I lost her, I locked up everything in it that had been her own—sacred treasures to me, that nothing in the world could ever replace. I hurled this out of the burning house first of all; but I little thought this would be really all I should save. She would never have forgiven me if I had let my feelings stand in the way of your good. You are a part of her, my boy; and I am looking them over now to find presents for this hospitable Dutchwoman and her maids. Just an acknowledgment of their kindness to you, my dear, before I leave you altogether to their care."

With a feeling of yearning sadness that winged his thoughts beyond this visible world, Jack leaned his head upon his hand and watched his father unfold the faded dresses. He saw him lay aside some treasured keepsake with a bitter sigh, or press it to his lips in fond remembrance. At last the selection was made.

Some yards of Buckinghamshire lace and an ivory fan were laid aside for Tante Milligen; a leathern reticule, some English photographs of churches, one or two little boxes of Tunbridge ware, for her children. For the coloured maids more useful articles were desirable—a flowered handkerchief, a pompadour dress, a bow of scarlet satin, an apron embroidered with crewels.

"You will not forget the poor Black Antelope, father," whispered Jack softly. "I have not seen her for days; but she was always kind."

"They think she is skulking about, afraid to show herself because of her master's anger; but I will leave this handkerchief for her if she comes back," said Mr. Treby shaking out a Scotch plaid-scarf, which Jack laid carefully under his pillow, reiterating his belief in the black girl's innocence.

"I wish," returned his father, "I was as sure about that young Englishman. I am afraid he has cheated me out of ten shillings I could ill spare; for the man who drove him over to the next farm must have returned by this time, and I can hear nothing of the promised coat. Whether it was misfortune or misconduct shipped him off here in such a hurry, we cannot say. It is the worst of a colonist's life: your heart warms at the sight of a fellow-countryman, and then you find him out to be a worthless scamp. Well, it teaches me to appreciate this worthy old Boer. He struck so hard, Jack, because the flask was not his own. What would become of us now if there was no one we could trust? But there is that straight-forward honesty about him that he will take all the more care of my things because I am a stranger; and that is saying a great deal."

Then Mr. Treby took a great hammer and some nails which he had borrowed, and after he had locked the chest, he nailed down the lid to make it additionally safe.

Everything at last was ready for his departure. Whilst Jack slept the first real sleep since the fever had seized him, his father took the proffered pipe from Genderen's hand, and sat down on the bench in the garden where the Boers were smoking. He turned to Van Niepert, for he had something yet to say. He was thinking what would become of Jack if he were overtaken by any of the perils which menace a traveller in these wild regions. His thoughts were all for his boy.

The Dutchman puffed a great cloud of smoke into the air as he talked of what might be. Then Van Niepert's big hand descended with a thud. "Look yonder, man, across the veldt. Can't either of us see the kopjee (hill) that divides your land from Walt's. But that is there; and the boy's here. Walt must keep them both till the boy is of age to manage his own. Let your mind be easy. There will be the rent laid by year after year—a good round sum to start him with by that time."

"Ik is Walt Immerseel," said his neighbour, sealing the promise the old man's words conveyed with a hearty hand-grip Mr. Treby never forgot.

"I am Walt Immerseel," translated the grandfather. "There, man, is not that enough?"

"Jah, Jah!" muttered the stolid brothers.

"Strike hands on that. Did an Immerseel ever run back?"

Jack's father indeed appreciated to the full that steady persistency that lies at the root of the Dutch character, the source of their wonderful patience and unwearying industry, and also of their dogged obstinacy, making it harder to turn a Dutch Boer aside than the proverbial donkey.

"Never despair," continued old Niepert, puffing away huge volumes of smoke between every sentence, "while you've your hands and your acres. 'Amsterdam was built upon a herring-bone.' You've more than that to work upon."

Never did the good old Dutch proverb teach its lesson to more attentive ears. Yes, in the dreary swamp where the Dutchman first drew breath, the visit of the herring-shoal was the only source of gain.

Mr. Treby felt how good it is to look back at these great works, which patient perseverance has already accomplished in this world of ours, when our own small corner is devastated. It helped him to brace his own energies to the task before him.

But he did not repeat to Jack a single word of all this conversation, for he wanted to cheer him. So he turned away from the clouds which threatened him, and looked only at the brighter side. He spoke of Vickel.

"If she should lay before I come back, you must take the greatest care of her eggs. If they are worth five pounds apiece, Jack, you will be a rich man some of these days."

With his father's arm around him and his father's voice still murmuring in his ears, Jack fell once more into that peaceful, health-restoring sleep which gladdened his father's heart more than anything else.

But when he awakened from it, that father had departed. The waggon had started at daybreak; Mr. Treby was gone.

Little Sannie was singing on the "steop," as the front of the house was called. Bright and busy life was around him everywhere, but he had no share in it. He lay on his face, so that no one should see the tears that would gather in his eyes, he felt so unutterably lonely.

Zyl was the first to come to him. Oh, if they could only talk; but as this pleasure was out of their power, the Dutch boy sat swinging on the lower half of the door, whistling compassionately. The English-made rakes and hoes and all the other odd pieces of iron-work which Mr. Treby had left behind him, attracted his attention.

Whilst he examined them, Jack's red eyes were roving the world without. Where was his father? Which way did he go? Between those huge distorted masses of rock which had hitherto like a brown blot on Jack's horizon? He saw them now with other eyes—giant forms of rainbow-tinted crystal, with smooth bands of gray and red overlying each other; and at their feet the huge red plain that to Jack was home.

But here at Jaarsveldt the more abundant water had partly covered the karroo with a coat of green. In the very crevices of the loosely-built stone walls, dark green leaves peeped forth to the rising sunshine; and on the tumble-down sod walls by the Kafir huts, luxurious chickweed was tangled with the glistening leaves of the ice-plant. A Kafir maid at her early dairy-work was singing a low-voiced chant in sleepy tones, which more nearly resembled the hum of the honey-laden bee than any other sound; whilst the growing sunlight tinted all around with the golden hue of the ripened corn.

When Zyl perceived that Jack was awake, he came into the loft, and taking out of his pocket a kind of pop-gun he had been making, he showed it to him. A sort of pantomime sufficed to explain its working. It made Jack laugh to see how easily Zyl shot off a volley of peas at the opposite wall. It was all the better for Jack, now the three days with the books were exchanged for three weeks of wild liberty, in which the young Boers delighted. They were checkered with spells of real work in the garden and with the men. But these only increased Zyl's happiness, who was longing for the time when Jack could share it with him. He stowed the pop-gun away under Jack's pillow with a smile, and gathering up his spent ammunition, poured it into the thin white hand that was softly pressing his own.

"All right," cried Zyl, imitating his brother. And the brief sentence Otto had taught them became a sort of watchword between the two boys.

Zyl slid down the ladder with a tremendous boohoo, and took himself off to the sheep-kraals.

But Jack was not forgotten by the rest of the family. Tante Milligen herself ascended the ladder, puffing and perspiring, for her exceeding stoutness rendered the ascent a matter of difficulty. She dropped down on the foot of Jack's bed, and regarded him anxiously. After feeling his head and his hands, and even pushing a finger into his mouth (Jack manfully resisted the temptation to bite it), she gave a satisfied smile, and departed in her turn, for she heard the rumble of cart-wheels entering the gate.

The ugly old Hottentot brought him his breakfast, and with it the light-gray overcoat Mr. Algarkirke had promised to send. It was tied round with a bit of string, and a card was dangling to it, on which was printed, "Sandford Algarkirke," in tiny letters. "For Mr. Treby" was written in pencil, just above the printed name.

Oh, how pleased Jack felt to see it; but what a pity his father was gone. As soon as he was left alone, he sat up and untied the string. He took off the card and examined the minute copperplate. He had no idea it was an English gentleman's visiting card, for he had never seen or heard of such a thing in his life. He thought he would put it in the breast-pocket of the coat, to take care of it, to show his father; but he found there was a slit in the bottom of the pocket, so he tied it up in the clean pocket-handkerchief his father had found for him in his mother's chest. Then Jack thought he would hang up the coat on a nail which he saw at the other end of the loft. He tried to put his feet to the ground; but he was so weakened by the fever that his head swam round, and for a few minutes he could hardly tell where he was.

"Oh dear, oh dear! What shall I do?" he moaned. "I do want Tottie."

If his Dutch friends heard him, they did not understand the piteous cry; but Vickel, lying on her breast in the sand, with her head touching the ground, recognized the dear familiar voice she had been missing. With a bound and a scream she struck upon the door Tante Milligen had so carefully closed, and burst it open. The wooden latch flew off, and stretching her long neck into the loft, she discovered her beloved Jack half-buried in the coat. Vickel snatched at the heap of gray with beak and claw, and pulling it off Jack's face, she looked at him with her large, luminous, human-like eyes welling over with love behind their long dark lashes. Up came the Hottentot herdsman and drove her away.

But she had found out her master's retreat, and she watched over him night and day. There was no fear of Vickel straying from Jaarsveldt whilst Jack was in the loft. Ostriches are often called stupid, because they hide their heads under their wings at the approach of danger; but this is really a sign of their great intelligence. Their strong and powerful limbs can resist the attack of a buffalo, whilst a slight blow on their graceful, tender heads kills them in a moment. They know this, and so they use their short wing, with its splendid curling feathers, as a shield.

Of course Vickel's last escapade was duly reported at head-quarters, and an ill-looking Kafir, who had been wounded in the fight in which she had been taken prisoner by the Boers, was told off to watch the sick child.

Jack dreamed of her scarred face, and wakened in a fright, believing she was about to cut off his ears. But in spite of these drawbacks, his strength was slowly returning. Genderen was permitted to bring him grapes, and feed him with huge spoonfuls of a coarse but strengthening jelly, not many removes from liquid glue.

Before Van Niepert departed, he too mounted the wooden ladder about half-way, until his head was level with the door in the gable. Rejoicing in a veritable tribe of children and grandchildren, he had had much experience, and his dictum was usually received as final. He pronounced Jack out of all danger, and bade him cheer up, for he would soon be on his feet again.

Jack started up in horror for fear he should be once more consigned to the oven-like slaap-kamé when the old grandfather had departed. Van Niepert had spoken to him in English, and this emboldened Jack to prefer a very earnest petition that he might be permitted to keep his little bed in the loft. It was curing him, he urged; he had been getting better ever since he had been there.

With a hearty laugh at English tastes, Van Niepert persuaded his daughter to let the little fellow have his way. Tante Milligen was the more willing to indulge him because, like a thrifty housewife, she had been secretly chagrined at being obliged to put a strange boy in her best bed.

Walt was saddling his grandfather's horse; Van Immerseel was dutifully receiving a little parting advice; the whole family were gathered on the steop to watch the departure, when the eldest of the stolid uncles slowly mounted Jack's ladder, and taking out a leathern bag, deliberately looked over its contents, selecting an English sixpence.

Jack wondered what was coming, when he saw it spinning round and round between the thumb and finger of the younger Niepert's big hand.

This was done to attract Jack's attention. When the Boer was satisfied the English boy was looking at him, he tossed the sixpence towards him with so good an aim, it alighted in Jack's palm.

X.

_THE BANK-NOTE._

"SLOW and steady" was assuredly the Boer's motto. The formal leave-takings, the blessings and the charges delivered by Van Niepert to every member of his daughter's family before he set a foot in the stirrup, took up so much time that Jack grew tired of being alone. His pop-gun was his first resource, but his ammunition was soon exhausted, and Zyl did not appear to gather up the scattered peas; so he waited until the scarred Kafir put in an appearance with his bowl of milk. Not understanding what it was he wanted, she brought him his father's coat. As she held it out to him, Jack saw for the first time that Vickel had torn the lining.

He took it from her hand in much dismay, wondering whether he were man enough to mend it. As he turned it over, a letter fell out from between the cloth and the lining. It had never been opened; but it must have been shaking about in the inside of the coat a long while, for the edges of the envelope were worn through and let the contents fall out. The letter was addressed to the "Rev. Astley Bourke," and that was all. Jack unfolded the note, and found a flimsy piece of paper folded in it, on which was printed, "Bank of England."

"Can this be a bank-note?" thought Jack, for he had seen one when his father sold his wool. He felt now he was making a grand discovery, and read the note very carefully.

"The Honourable Mrs. Featherstone presents her compliments to the Rev. Astley Bourke, and in answer to his application encloses a bank-note for £50.

"HAWKSWOOD HALL, NOTTINGHAM."

Of course it was the word Nottingham caught Jack's eye, for it made him think of his grandfather. But he did not consider it wise to let the Kafir see the bank-note, so he slipped it under his pillow until he was left alone. But unfortunately Jack's precaution failed, for the Kafir would not have known what it was if she had seen it, but Otto did; and just as Jack had taken out the note and spread it before him on the sheet to examine it more thoroughly, Tante Milligen, happening to meet Otto, sent him to set Jack's mind at ease.

Walt had gone with his grandfather part of the way, so the German was once again the only English-speaking individual on the farm.

As he poked his way into the loft to deliver Tante Milligen's message, he caught sight of the note, and watched Jack slip it out of sight. He said nothing, but "Bank of England," "fifty pounds," rang in his head for days.

The German did not stay long. When Jack found himself alone once more, he packed up his treasure very carefully, knotting it in the handkerchief with Mr. Algarkirke's card and the sixpence the younger Niepert had given to him.

"I must keep it very carefully till father comes back," he thought. "I wonder whom it belongs to? Fifty pounds is such a lot of money; wouldn't father be glad if it were his?" Then he turned over and tried to sleep; but the responsibility of so large a sum of money under his pillow would not let him rest.

The very wind seemed singing "the Rev. Astley Bourke." At last he sat upright, and once more taking out his treasure, looked for the date. He could read it clearly in the brilliant moonlight, and counting the intervening months on his fingers, satisfied himself that the letter was written nearly two years ago.

"How odd that Mr. Algarkirke never found it," reflected Jack, "for it must have been in the lining of the coat all the while he had it. I wonder where he is now. Father did not altogether like him; but he said he could trust Van Immerseel, for he took such care of everything in the waggon, all the more because father was a stranger to him, and I must do the same."

After Jack had cleared up his mind and decided what he ought to do in the matter, sleep became possible once more. He dreamed of running over the sea with the bank-note in his hand, to ask his grandfather if the Rev. Astley Bourke lived at Nottingham.

The next day Jack was dressed by the Kafir in the grotesque garments the Black Antelope had found for him. Then she got him on her back and carried him down the ladder into the sit-kamé, and laid him down on Sannie's sheep-skin. He had found a bit of string in the loft, and tied his treasures round his neck under the blouse.

Everybody came and looked at him, and spoke encouragingly in Dutch. But he had nothing to do but to count the plum-stones in the floor and the beams in the ceiling, for the other children were sent out of the way to keep him quiet; but this did not last long.

Little Sannie was the first to make her way to him. She came waddling in like a fat little duck, with both hands full of sweeties, which she wanted him to share.

The next morning Zyl stood at the foot of the ladder with a look of business about him, waiting for Jack's appearance. Jack was looking much better and feeling stronger. He found he could dispense with the old Kafir's services, and walked down the ladder himself.

Having at last got hold of Jack's hand, Zyl led him off in triumph to the three-cornered seat in his own little garden. The grassy thatch on the old umbrella had been well watered, thus adding a refreshing coolness to the quiet nook. A pile of newly-cut sods were prepared for a footstool, and a heap of juicy oranges for their mutual enjoyment.

A few such days brought back the colour to Jack's cheek, and the sparkle of returning health to his hollow eyes. Then Zyl and Genderen laid their heads together and evolved a grand scheme.

A little hand-carriage was constructed with Walt's help, very much resembling a wash-trough on wheels. A pillow and an old cloak of Tante Milligen's were placed in it, before Jack was asked if he would like a drive.

Zyl was horse and Sannie driver, whilst Genderen walked sedately by its side with a branch of a milk-bush in her hand, flicking away the flies with its long waxen leaves.

"Ah! Neu yah trek!" shouted Zyl, and away they went towards the sheep-kraals.

Now and then they stopped to rest, when Sannie played in the waving tambouki grass, and gathered bunches of the yellow bitto flower and bright bluebell; and Genderen pointed to the tiny black insects with red stripes which made that bunch of yellow flowers their mimic city. Then Zyl discovered a veritable ant-palace, out of which the valiant inhabitants were marching to make war on their encroaching neighbours. So eager was he to watch the pitched battle which ensued, that he approached too near the insect squadron, and got a sting for his temerity.

How odd it seemed not to be able to talk in the same language to each other. Genderen, in her slow, quiet fashion, was trying to teach Jack the Dutch names of the different things they passed, and to repeat his English ones. Their mutual mistakes called forth such bursts of laughter that there was no lack of fun amongst them. That was obviously intelligible all round. Jack had recourse to pantomime, in which he was growing very expert, imitating what he wanted to describe just as children do in the game of "dumb actions."

Then Zyl once more began his shout of "Ah! Neu yah trek!" And the little cavalcade again set forward, until they came in sight of Otto's hut and the vast multitude of sheep dotting the red karroo.

As they drew nearer, the shepherd's dogs came leaping and bounding towards them with short, joyous barks of welcome.

Zyl was for harnessing them to Jack's car, and rushed off to borrow a rope of Otto. But Genderen shook her head, and reminded him they were to rest in the shepherd's hut, where a basket of fruit and roaster-cakes would be waiting for them.

Otto himself came trotting up on his shaggy pony. He had locked the door of his hut when he left it in the morning; but the basket Genderen expected to find had been duly left on the step by one of the Kafir boys. The German pressed them to enter, and lifted Jack out of his carriage.

The hut was built of wattle and clay, with a fireplace and one window. Jack was eager to go in, for he thought perhaps his father could build them such another; it could not cost anything so much as their house which was burned down.

Genderen began to unpack the basket, and spread its contents on Otto's little table. As a matter of course, he was invited to take his share. But to find seats for so large a party was more than he knew how to manage, seeing he could boast of but one chair, and that he offered to Genderen. He had no bedstead, but a sort of hammock swung across the end of the hut. He began to clear the top of his box, which usually served him as a side-table.

Jack suddenly stepped forward, for there lay his lost knife.

"Please, Mr. Otto," he began.

But the German turned to him with a frown. "I'll have no meddling with my things," he answered in a threatening tone.

Jack was silent; he saw it was useless to remonstrate, for the German would give his own version to Van Immerseel.

"And, I am sure," thought Jack, "a man who would take my knife would not be above telling a lie; and I could not explain to anybody it was mine any more than I could about the poor Black Antelope."

Still Jack had one more question he wanted to ask the shepherd, so he said quickly, "We are not going to meddle with any of your things, Mr. Otto," with an emphasis on the "your" that made the German bristle all over like a porcupine setting up its quills.

But he was a little disarmed when Jack continued undismayed, "But please, Mr. Otto, can you tell me when the schoolmaster will come again?"

This was a vital question for Jack, and he waited breathlessly for the answer. But Otto either could not or would not tell him.

After a while Zyl set up his unearthly shout of, "Ah! Neu yah trek!" and although Otto flatly refused to let his dogs be transferred into post-horses, the return journey was as blithe as the outgoing.

Of course, the dogs obeyed their master's whistle, and accompanied him until they had a good view of the sheep. Perceiving that their customary charges were all right, and that nothing particular was required of them, they rushed back to the children with one accord, feeling themselves in duty bound to see their young friends well on their homeward way. Up they came, with their curly ears well back and their bushy tails wagging with delight. Their eyes were bright with the pleasure of stolen liberty, as they bounded round the children, saying as plainly as dogs always can to those who try to understand them, "We know we shall catch it if we are caught, but we'll risk it just this once for you, you dears."

Then hands were licked and shaggy heads were fondled, and hairy and rosy lips exchanged their mutual kisses, Jack at last becoming emboldened to take his share in this overflow of caressing love.