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.