XII.

_WRITING TO GRANDFATHER._

IN another minute Jack's arm was round Genderen's neck, coaxing and entreating for something, she could not tell what. He took up one of the peppersticks and pretended to write on her pinafore.

"When would the schoolmaster come again?" was that it? Genderen counted the number of days upon her fingers. Ten more, and he would be due. But Jack persistently shook his head and wrote on. Thinking he wanted to borrow a slate and pencil, she led him into the sit-kamé and touched the door of the cupboard where their books were kept. This was right.

Jack murmured a grateful "Jah."

Genderen unlocked the door, and waited for him to point to what he wanted.

Jack's eye roved over the motley contents for a moment, and then his finger touched the inkstand.

Genderen gave a smile of intelligence, and putting her own pen in his other hand let him carry them off in triumph.

He knew that Otto was gone by this time, and that Zyl was still asleep, so he slipped unperceived into the garden and made a writing-desk of his friend's three-cornered seat. The hedge round Zyl's garden had grown luxuriantly, thanks to the diligent use of his watering-pot, so that no one could see what Jack was doing behind it.

He sat down on the grass and took out his treasure. It was all right, but the edges were wearing away. He read the lady's note again. It only covered one page of the sheet of paper. Jack's eyes grew bright: with three pages of blank paper he could write a letter to his grandfather, and send the note and its contents to him.

"He can find the lady. They are both living at Nottingham. Tomorrow is the day for the post-cart to pass," thought Jack, feeling his spirits rise like a bird at having found such a good way out of his difficulty.

Jack had never written a letter by himself before. He had often put a little note to his grandfather into his father's letters. But then there was always his father to tell him if it were all right. Now he must do it all; for if he wore the bank-note round his neck another week, it would drop to pieces, and if he tried to hide it anywhere else Otto would get it. So Jack wrote on as well as he could:—

"DEAR GRANDFATHER,—Some thieves burned down our house, and father burned his coat getting me out of the fire, so he had to buy one of a stranger—a young Englishman, who said he had got a coat he did not want. It was too big for him. It had belonged to a friend of his, and it was put with his luggage by mistake, for he left England in a great hurry. His friend said it was not worth while to send it back. Father and I went to the nearest farm, and he was to send the coat there. Father was going away with the waggon, but as I was ill, he left me behind.

"The coat came too late for him to wear it on the journey, so I was taking care of it for him. And one day when I was ill in bed my ostrich tore it, only because it was in the way, and she wanted to come to me. Then I found there was a letter between the lining and the cloth, with a bank-note in it. I thought at first I had better keep it until father came back; but I can't. The people here are very kind to me; but they speak Dutch, so I cannot tell them anything.

"There is only one man who can speak English, and he is a bad man, and tried last night to steal the bank-note. I do not know what he would have done to me if my ostrich had not come to my help and knocked him down. She is the dearest, loveliest bird in all the world. I can't tell you how I love her. I have just found out this horrid man has got my ostrich shut up. I know what that means. He thinks he shall get the bank-note away from me when I have no big bird to fight for me. But he is making a mistake, for I am going to send it to you by the post.

"And please, grandfather dear, will you give back to the lady it belongs to, if she is still at Nottingham; and if she is not there now, you will be more likely to find her than father; and anyhow it will be safe. I will put all in this letter; the card that was tied to the coat too, for I am afraid I should not write the names plain. I have no more paper, so good-bye, dear grandfather.

"Your affectionate grandson,

"JOHN TREBY."

Jack dried his letter in the sun, and then folded the bank-note in it once again, and slipped it into the ragged envelope. He looked well at the card, thinking that if he were the schoolmaster, he should not like to have such a difficult name to spell every time he had to write a letter. Then he packed both card and letter in a sheet of his "Illustrated London News," and tied it up with the precious piece of string he had found in his pocket after the fire.

Oh, was not it a wonderful thing that he should actually have money enough to pay the postage. It was good of Zyl's uncle to give him that sixpence. Oh, how true it is that with the trial God sends the way of escape, that we may be able to bear it. Jack thought of the night when his father had explained that to him—a Sunday night years ago. He had listened and remembered then; he was living by it now.

Next the thought of what Otto might do to him in his exasperation, when he found himself baffled, came over Jack like a cold shadow; but he threw it off, exclaiming, "I comforted father when I reminded him of Christ's own words,—

"'Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.'

"And ought not they to comfort me? I won't be made afraid." He put back his precious letter into its case of rushes, and marched into the house with Genderen's pen and ink.

Zyl was just out of bed, and laughing heartily at the idea of beginning his day with dinner; but for all that there was a cloud on his brow, for like Genderen and Sannie, he was secretly fretting for his Kafir nurse, and sullenly resenting his father's harshness to her. So Jack's excitement passed unnoticed.

Van Immerseel himself was sorry for them all; and hoping to divert his children's thoughts from the lost Intombi (as a Kafir girl is usually called), he told them he was going down to the ostrich camp to collect the eggs, and that they should go too. Zyl should drive them in the cart.

The girls ran off for their sun-kappjes, whilst the boys packed the egg-baskets in the back of the cart. Jack was delighted, for he expected to find his Vickel there. He had often seen the Boer's men loading this cart with barley quite early in the morning, and he guessed very shrewdly that it was to feed the ostriches.

Jack's great question now was how to get his letter to the post-cart. And in this discovery, he found a key to unlock his difficulty. Van Immerseel was mounted on his favourite cob. Like most African farmers, he preferred riding to walking when he visited his ostriches, because the presence of a horse has a very quieting effect upon these feathered giants. He rode slowly, whistling a favourite tune, whilst the cart rumbled over the stones at a little distance.

When they reached the camp, Van Immerseel left the girls outside, but he took Jack upon his horse and showed him Vickel, very happy and content in the midst of her feathered kin. Zyl marched boldly after them with a basket on his head, until they came to the nests. Here the Van dismounted, and was soon in high good humour with the number of beautiful eggs he was able to collect. Jack was very quiet and very attentive, watching eagerly everything that went on around, not a little pleased that Van Immerseel trusted him to hold the bridle of his horse whilst he was busy after the eggs.

When they returned, Van Immerseel let both the boys ride at once, whilst he led the cart himself very carefully. Jack was happy, for he had worked out his plan, and not one of his Dutch friends imagined for a moment that his joyous laugh, as he rode behind his friend, was the effervescence of such a desperate resolution.

When they reached home, Jack employed the rest of the evening in making a hood for Vickel out of his pocket-handkerchief—something after the fashion of a carriage-hood, so that it might let up and down. He had saved a handful of the strongest rushes they had found in the ravine. Genderen supplied him with a needle and thread. He folded his handkerchief cornerwise, and made runners for the rushes across it at even distances. It was easy to draw it into shape and sew the rushes firmly together at the ends. He had torn off the hems of the handkerchief to serve for strings, and when these were sewn on his work was completed.

When one of the Hottentot maids fetched him indoors to supper, he took the opportunity to entreat Tante Milligen to let him sleep indoors. She was quite prepared for this, and understood him easily. So she put him in bed with Zyl. And when Walt joined them, an hour or two later, a nice time they had of it. With fever and fretting Jack was as thin as a little skeleton—a perfect shrimp in Walt's eyes, who insisted upon putting Jack between them, for fear he should kick him out of bed in his sleep without knowing it. When sleep visited his two Dutch friends it was banished from Jack's eyelids; for snoring followed in its train, and every time the two young giants stretched themselves or rolled over, he thought he should be crushed. So he passed the greater part of the night sitting cross-legged on his pillow.

With daybreak Walt arose, and Jack followed his example, for he was gasping like a little fish for air; but Zyl, who had not yet recovered his lost rest, was sleeping heavily. Walt perceived poor Jack's condition, and did not wonder at his determination to escape to the fresh, cool morning air outside; so he let the English boy accompany him to the garden, where Walt was soon too hard at work to take much heed of his restless companion.

As soon as the farm-yard gate was open Jack went in, and seating himself at the door of the granary, waited for the arrival of the ostrich-cart. When he heard the droning hum of the dairymaid's song, he ventured to her door and begged a cup of milk. The balmy air of the African dawn was breathing new life into every vein. It seemed an easy thing to him then to scamper over the veldt on Vickel and meet the post-cart; yes, and be back again almost before anybody could miss him.

The cart was coming for the barley. Jack was at his post in a moment. The "oom" himself had taken him to see his bird the night before, so the men about the yard, who had found Vickel guarding the door of the loft morning after morning, thought it quite natural Jack should want to go and feed her.

The drive through the morning air raised Jack's spirits, and he joined merrily in the Kafir's song, catching the lilt and humming the tune when the queer-sounding words escaped him.

A deafening scream from the ostrich camp greeted their arrival. The hungry birds were crowding round the gate, crying their loudest for breakfast. A hundred open beaks and as many impatient claws scratching up the sand looked somewhat formidable. Jack filled the crown of his hat with barley, and as soon as the gate was unlocked, he waved it high in the air, flinging the grains of corn far and wide. The feathered phalanx was dispersed in a moment. The tall, towering necks were bent to the ground with a meek gobble, gobble.

"They are nothing but big poultry after all," laughed Jack.

The Kafir laughed too, and invited Jack to enter; but he preferred remaining by the gate, whilst the Kafir went in with his sack of barley on his shoulders.

While the man was thus engaged, Jack called, "Vic! Vic!" but at first there was no answer. Jack raised his voice, and looked around. He soon found her, for the other birds would not suffer the stranger to eat with them at present; so Vickel was hovering round and round the busy group, fain to content herself with a solitary grain or two snatched desperately between her companions' feet. At the sound of Jack's call she ran towards him with a crow of delight.

He had kept some barley for her in the crown of his hat. A few grains flung towards her again and again soon separated her from the other ostriches. Jack softly opened the gate, and by showing her the barley still left in his hat, he tempted her to follow him out. He shut the gate behind them, emptied the remainder of the barley on the ground, and whilst Vickel devoured it eagerly, he sprang upon her back.

Away on his winged steed, away like the wind, across that sea of glowing sand they flitted like a light-gray cloud, circling round and round in their rapid flight. Never before had Vickel tasted the full delight of perfect liberty on her native veldt. She arched her graceful neck and shook out her curling plumes to the morning breeze in a whirl of mad delight, as if she were a willing participant in her master's daring scheme.

Pursuit was impossible; nothing could overtake them now. Vickel scarcely touched the ground as she skimmed across the mighty plain, balancing herself with her outspread wings, with an easy, graceful movement that was neither running nor flying, but swifter than the swiftest racer that ever won the Derby. The speed at which they travelled almost took away Jack's breath.

He was delighted with the success of his manœuvre. The ease with which he had been able to manage the starting encouraged him mightily. Through the clear African atmosphere Jack could see for miles. He had so often watched for the post-cart by his father's side, and had been the first to perceive the little cloud of dust darkening the horizon line, he could not miss it now.