III.

_AFRICAN NEIGHBOURS._

FOR an hour or two during the burning heat in the middle of the day Mr. Treby was obliged to rest. Here and there the veldt was crossed by little streams. By the edge of one of these the waggon halted. In places it was nearly dry, yet the milk-bushes, with their long waxen leaves, grew taller by its margin.

Jack and his ostrich were glad to alight and stretch themselves, for Vickel could not stand upright beneath the tilt without knocking her head. A good play amidst the waving tufts of tambouki grass refreshed them both.

When Mr. Treby had fed his oxen, he sat down under the shadow of the nearest bush, and called Jack to share the dinner which Tottie had provided for them. The ostrich found her own amongst the loose stones and sprouting leaves by the brook.

When they were ready to start again on their journey, Jack's father gathered a nice bundle of the long, dry grass to make a bed for his little boy in a corner of the waggon. Jack coiled himself up in it like a bird in its nest, and found it very comfortable, whilst his father calculated how far the ten pounds could go. He had neither pencil nor paper, so he made his figures with the point of his penknife on the side of the waggon.

It was fortunate, he thought, that the knife was in the pocket of his trousers. As he felt for it, he pulled out the newspaper the postman had given to him. It was the last number of the "Illustrated London News." What a burlesque, it seemed to him, to receive it in such circumstances!

"Here, Jack," he said, "here is something for you to look at. Take care of it, my boy, for I was just thinking you might forget how to read before we had another book to call our own. We shall want so much to build the house again."

"I shall never forget how to read, father," answered Jack decidedly; "and I can write with a burned stick on the wall of Tottie's hut, or make figures, as you are doing now, for I have got my knife as well as you." He dived into the pocket of his jacket as he spoke, and produced a stout clasp-knife, which had seen a deal of service in the garden.

"All right," returned his father. "We must gather up the fragments. Every trifle may be of use."

Then Mr. Treby went on with his calculations, and Jack lay back in his nook, with the big rush-hat Tottie had found for him tilting over his eyes. How he enjoyed his lovely pictures; whilst Vickel, who had become more reconciled to the jolting waggon, diverted herself by enlarging the hole in the sack of mealies.

When Mr. Treby looked round again Jack was fast asleep, with the precious paper still in his hand. The poor child was worn out with the alarm and excitement of the previous night, so his father was careful not to disturb him; for he said to himself with a sigh, "No one can tell what may lie before us."

Jack did not rouse until the glorious African sunset had tinged the lonely veldt with molten gold. Hard-winged, spotted insects buzzed in and out of the waggon. One blood-thirsty mosquito refused all notice to quit until Vickel snapped at it most ferociously.

But they were near their journey's end. The zinc roofs of the Boer's farm-buildings glowed like fires in the distance. Behind them was the wide flat plain, one dull, monotonous red; before them rose the rocky hills, the boundary of Jack's horizon. He had seen them looming cloud-like in the distance as long as he could remember anything; but now, as the waggon rumbled on, and they came nearer and nearer, as the daylight faded, they seemed to alter into some big blur of brown, blotting out the ruddy sunset gold. The clumps of bush grew larger, and now and then a shy antelope darted across their path. Jack sat up, resting one hand on his father's knee. The weary oxen dragged heavily along.

"Jack," said his father, "just one more mile. We are close on Jaarsveldt. Cheer up, my boy."

Then Jack began to sing, but his father stopped him. "Hush, there is somebody coming."

A wild cat scampered over a ridge of stones and made the oxen bellow. She had been startled from her lair by the approaching horseman.

"There they come," continued Mr. Treby, as a powerful black horse with an equally ponderous rider emerged from the shadows; two Kafir attendants followed, dragging between them a buck antelope. Some smaller game was hanging to their master's saddle. "I ought to know that young giant," soliloquized Mr. Treby. "He must be a son of Van Immerseel." It was evident that the hunting party was returning to the farm.

As they drew near to each other, the young Boor stared hard at the ox-waggon and its ragged driver. But despite his forlorn appearance, Mr. Treby raised his hat with the air of an English gentleman, and pointing to the homestead before them, asked him if it were the residence of Van Immerseel.

The gigantic youngster stared and scratched his head, answering with a sullen "Jah" (Yes).

Mr. Treby's knowledge of Dutch was small, and young Immerseel knew nothing of English, but he comprehended that it was his father Mr. Treby wanted, and invited him by gestures to join company. He walked his horse by the side of the waggon, and laughed most heartily when Vickel poked her long neck through the tilt, which she had been strenuously endeavouring to slit for the last hour. But his exclamations were in Dutch, and Mr. Treby failed to catch their import.

When they passed the outlying ostrich camp belonging to his father's farm, he pointed it out, and Mr. Treby expressed his admiration for the large flock of majestic birds it contained, by nods and smiles. But the proximity of so many of her feathered kin disturbed poor Vickel sorely, and taxed Jack's ingenuity to the utmost to keep her in bounds. Young Immerseel soon sent his black followers to the right about, the antelope was left under the wall of the camp, and one of the Kafirs ran forward to apprise the family at Jaarsveldt of the approach of the waggon.

The house was large, low, and square, of substantial red brick. On one side was the orchard, on the other extensive sheep-kraals; for where Mr. Treby had counted his sheep by the score, Van Immerseel counted his by the thousand. The water in the dam shone like silver beside the dark row of Kafir huts where his servants lived. The house was surrounded by a low wall, which enclosed the garden and farm-yard. At the open gate stood the strong-built, broad-shouldered owner. His habitual hospitality was tempered by his surly dislike of the English.

"Walt," he shouted to his eldest son, in a voice so gruff and deep that Jack thought it might have belonged to the strongest of their oxen.

"We must not be dismayed at that, Jack. These 'Ooms and 'Tantes' are a worthy race, if you can but get on their right side," observed Mr. Treby.

"Ooms and tantes?" repeated Jack inquiringly.

"Yes; uncles and aunts, as we should say," laughed his father. "The Boers and their wives are uncles and aunts to all the rest of the world. Pray, don't forget that. Now take the reins."

Mr. Treby sprang lightly to the ground, and walked up to his burly neighbour with outstretched hand, offering the customary salutation of the Dutch, "Dagh, oom" (Good-day, uncle).

Slowly and sullenly the hand was taken, but the unwilling pressure tightened to a hearty grip as the Englishman hastened to explain his object. This was not an easy matter, but he pointed to his burned clothes, about which the smell of smoke still lingered, and then across the silent veldt to where a dull black column of smoke rose up ominously in the far distance.

"Burned out!" The Boer comprehended thus far in a moment.

The shepherds at Jaarsveldt had also seen the ruddy glow in the midnight sky.

The sullen frown began to change its character. The wrinkled brow was puckered still, but with most genuine concern. He slapped Mr. Treby on the back, and forced him to enter; whilst his son gave his horse to one of the Kafirs, and lifted Jack out of the waggon as if he had been a baby, mounted him on his shoulder, and marched off, laughing, to the house.

From such an unwonted elevation, Jack had an excellent view of the house they were approaching over his father's head. But this hardly consoled him for the loss of dignity.

A wooden staircase outside the house led to the upper story, which was little better than a loft, and was used as the general store for every variety of household goods and discarded lumber. The door of the house was cut in two, like an English stable door, and over the lower half, which was closed, Tante Milligen was hanging, anxious to see what sort of people her husband was bringing. Around her stood her black and yellow maids, excited and eager, for the arrival of the strangers was a pleasant break in the dull monotony of their daily life. At a word from the "oom," a woolly-haired black (with nothing but a dirty scarlet blanket twisted round her waist) was sent running with a message, but to whom or where Mr. Treby had no idea.

Tante Milligen threw open the door, and dispersing the little knot of servants and children, invited the travellers to enter.

Jack looked round the large white-washed room with some surprise. The heavy chairs and lumbering settee were covered with home-tanned skins; but the curiously-spotted floor attracted the most of his attention. It was made of clay, thickly dotted over with plum-stones, well polished by the friction of many feet.

An ample supper was awaiting the return of the young hunter—huge joints of beef, from which the rations for the numerous dependants had been already cut; piles of roaster-cake; and above all, a well-filled basket of grapes, oranges, and peaches.

At first poor Jack was almost dazed by the sudden change from the shadowy night to the bright lamp-light within the Boer's "sit-kamé" (sit-chamber, or sitting-room, as we should say in English). More bewildering still was the buzz of strange voices around him, every one speaking in a language he could not understand. Walt placed him on the wondrous floor, in the middle of the room, and called to his younger brother, a boy about Jack's age, but twice his size, "Zyl, Zyl."

Jack caught the name, and smiled, as a lumpy, sheepish-looking boy answered the brotherly appeal, by seizing him by both hands and dragging him to the table, around which the family were gathering. Their sister, a fat, freckled girl of thirteen, sat staring at him, with her thumb in her mouth, until poor Jack grew very hot and uncomfortable, for he was as black as a sweep and as shy as a wild rabbit. He wanted to keep close to his father, who was doing his best to cover up the awkwardness of his introduction, and make the most of the few Dutch phrases he could command.

In vain Jack tried to edge a little nearer to him. Between Walt and Zyl there was no escape. Tante Milligen loaded his plate with the tough beef, which at that hour of night he knew not how to eat. His eyes were fixed upon the corners of the room, in one of which lay a little bundle of blue and white check, and in the other the head and horns of the bullock whose ribs they were eating. Presently the bundle rolled over, and Jack discovered by its snoring that it really was a sleeping child.

Just then the black maid returned, followed by a young man in a pepper-and-salt suit, with an English hat. Jack's father brightened, for he saw by the cast of the stranger's countenance he was a German, and guessed that the Boer, who was probably his master, had summoned him to act as interpreter.

This new-comer was quickly seated at the family supper-table, between Van Immerseel and Mr. Treby. Yes, it was fortunate this young Otto, the German shepherd, knew about as much of English as Mr. Treby did of Dutch. With his assistance a sort of patch-work conversation was carried on.

"Vat ou zay?" the Boer inquired continually, for he was slow of understanding.

The one fact "burned out" had been made plain to him. To this he now added, "set on fire." When at last he was made to comprehend, "sheep gone," he laid down his knife and fork in sympathetic consternation. After a while they began to understand each other better. Walt, who seemed far more intelligent than his father, became an interested listener, and quickly grasped the position in which the unfortunate English farmer now stood. He scratched his head, as if recalling some occurrence to his memory; and then rubbing his hands gleefully, thundered in Mr. Treby's ear, as if he thought the loudness of his voice would make his meaning plainer.

He had been hunting "velderbeeste" all day. Jah, he was sure he had crossed fresh sheep-tracks, leading to the rocks among which the free Kafirs had their homes.

"Follow them," counselled his father, and Walt's eyes brightened at the prospect of a fight.

Then it was Mr. Treby's turn to explain. He managed to make them understand that he was alone, having sent his only man to Scarsdorp to warn his neighbour there.

Whilst this conversational medley was taking place, Tante Milligen perceived poor Jack's vain endeavour to get through his supper, and kindly exchanged the gigantic slice of beef for roaster-cakes and honey. Zyl and his sister Genderen watched these disappear, and before the last mouthful was finished, piled his plate with grapes and peaches. After his long and dusty drive, the fruit seemed delicious; but in spite of his utmost endeavours, Jack was nodding over his supper.

With a good-humoured smile, Tante Milligen made a sign. Walt took him up once more, and laid him on the sheep-skin by the snoring bundle.

It was intolerable to be treated like a baby, just because they were all so big and he so little. Jack started up belligerently, but his father's eye checked him. So he contented himself with shrugging his shoulders against the white-washed wall, and staring at his "vis-à-vis,"—the bull's head—for he was far too indignant to bestow a single glance upon his sleeping companion.

"I should just like to show them the sort of stuff an English boy is made of," he thought.