JACK AND HIS OSTRICH (continued 2)

In that brilliant moonlight he saw the silver-mounted flask in the black girl's hand as clearly as if it had been noonday, and so did Mr. Treby, who rode beside him. Believing she had stolen it from the waggon, the Boer leaped from his horse and struck her such a blow with his clenched fist that she lay moaning on the ground.

"Bread of mine was never yet broken by a thief, and never shall be!" he exclaimed indignantly, snatching the flask from her unresisting hand and returning it to Mr. Treby.

The gate of Jaarsveldt was flung open as Tante Milligen and the schoolmaster ran out to ascertain the cause of the commotion. The rest of the party spurred forward; but amidst the stamping of hoofs and the neighing of horses, the Boer's stentorian voice was heard denouncing the guilty hand that dared to touch the Englishman's goods in his absence.

"What is he saying?" asked Jack's father in an anxious aside to the German Otto.

The shepherd translated his master's words, adding, "Your things are safe enough under Van Immerseel's protection."

"Jah! Jah!" cried Walt, who was standing behind them. "We'll show you in the morning how we punish a thief at Jaarsveldt. Such gentry, be their colour what it may, had better not come here."

The noise had effectually roused poor Jack from his feverish sleep. He saw the Black Antelope, who had been so kind to him all day, staggering to her feet but he saw his father in the group, and scrambling out of the waggon, he rushed to him, gasping, "Don't let them hurt her, father dear! Oh, don't! Don't!" For the Boer had doubled up his gigantic fist to deal a second blow.

Mr. Treby stepped forward and caught Van Immerseel's arm, expressing his heartfelt thanks for his timely intervention, yet adding a plea for mercy to the delinquent.

The Kafir girl cast one loving look of gratitude on Jack, and slunk away into the shadows.

Tante Milligen, with her arms akimbo, was warmly applauding her husband's conduct.

Sandford Algarkirke had drawn back into the garden. He held the gate in his hand, and was listening attentively to every word.

"Please, sir," cried Jack excitedly, "you can make these people understand. Do come and tell them the poor Kafir girl only went to fetch me some more water. I am sure she did not mean to steal the flask."

"Then say so," was the brief reply; "but do not drag me into the matter."

"Of course I would, if I could speak their Dutch. I ought, I must; but they do not know what I am saying, so it is of no use. But you can explain it; and if you do not, they will beat her dreadfully," urged Jack. "We must not let the innocent suffer. It is not right, Mr. Algarkirke."

"Come along, then," returned the young schoolmaster, and taking Jack's hand he led him into the house, where the travellers were already seated round the supper-table.

"This little fellow has asked me to be his interpreter," said Algarkirke as he repeated Jack's assertion.

But the burly Dutchman only laughed.

"Say no more now, Jack," interposed his father, making room for his boy beside him. "Circumstances are very much against her."

"And circumstances weigh so heavily when you have only innocence without proof to balance them in the other scale; but she is happy to have even a child like you to believe in her," added the young schoolmaster, with a bitterness that made Jack's father think,—

"Some personal experience, something in your own life, gave its sting to that remark."

"She will never pilfer again," remarked Walt; "she is too true a Kafir for that. There is the dog-nature in them all—just the same sort of fidelity, and all that." So the talk ran on, and in the discussions over more important matters the Black Antelope was forgotten by all but Jack and the schoolmaster.

The sheep-tracks had been carefully traced, but they did not lead to the district of the free Kafirs in the valleys among the rocks. Mr. Treby began to think his Tottie was right in her estimate of the thieves. But the scare had spread through the whole district. The police would be here in the morning and until they had investigated the matter, watch must be kept, for fear the aggressors should return and attack another of the lonely farms which dotted the sandy waste.

Mr. Treby had encountered his white-haired Hottentot Seco returning. He brought him word that the new settler at Scarsdorp found the wild life in that vast karroo too rough for his taste, and had previously decided to change his sheep-farm and try tobacco-growing in Natal. The news which Seco carried made him hasten his departure all he could. He would "trek" at once (as the African settlers say when they move, using the old Dutch word their neighbours the Boers have made familiar throughout the district), if he could buy or hire another waggon to carry the rest of his goods.

Mr. Treby caught at the opportunity this offered him to retrieve his fortunes. He decided to place his waggon and oxen at his neighbour's service. For this he would receive a good round sum. He would drive it himself; and when he had delivered the goods, he must start for Kimberley and dig for diamonds, until he had gained money enough to rebuild his house and stock his farm. Van Immerseel was ready to hire his pasture for the rest of the season, and pay him on his return—not with money, but with sheep.

Jack, of course, would go with him, for he could work with him at the diamond diggings. Jack could manage a sieve; his young eyes would be as sharp as his own to pick out the sparkling diamonds as he sifted the loosened earth in which they were embedded. The journey would give his burned arm time to recover its natural strength, before he shouldered mattock and spade among the crowds of busy workers at the Kimberley diggings.

Such were the plans that Mr. Treby was revolving, as he did justice to the cold mutton and steaming coffee Tante Milligen had provided for the travellers.

"It is chancey work at the diamond mines," remarked the "oom." "A fellow may dig for weeks and get nothing but dirt for his pains; or he may make his fortune in a day."

"I can only try," answered Jack's father; "and with God's blessing I may pull round before another year."

How the young schoolmaster listened, as if he longed to follow his example.

Otto had been to Kimberley, and he described the giant circle, where the diamonds were to be found. So much earth had been already scooped away that he could liken it to nothing but an enormous basin, filled with men of all colours, grubbing in the earth like human ants. He spoke of its ceaseless toil and its uncertain gains.

But Mr. Treby still repeated, "I can only try. Hard work won't frighten me."

It was the look on Jack's face that was frightening him. He saw the feverish flush and the glittering eyes, and felt him shiver as the child crept closer and closer to his side.

"What is the matter, my boy?" he whispered.

But Jack did not reply. The group of rough, bearded men hastily snatching a supper seemed to him no better than the unreal phantoms of a troubled dream. Tante Milligen's broad, quaint figure, with her bare arms and borderless cap, seemed everywhere. The talk of dangers and daring thrilled through his over-excited brain; and then, worse than all, the great trap-door in the ceiling over his head appeared to open and shut of itself. The plum-stones which studded the floor seemed to dance before his eyes, until he hardly knew where he was. But his father's arm was around him, and to that he clung desperately.

When he came to himself, his father was pouring something down his throat from a cow's horn; Tante held a candle in her hand, and was saying something in Dutch. Jack caught the oft-repeated word "slaap-kamé" (sleep-chamber). At last she opened the door into one of the side rooms, which Jack could distinguish the curtains of a huge four-post bed. The room felt hot and stifling as his father carried him in and laid him down upon the softest pillow Jack had ever known. Tante Milligen stuck the candle she carried somewhere in the wall.

"There is no sleep for me to-night," said Jack's father. "I do not expect any disturbance; but come what may, I can keep watch within doors."

"And I shall share your vigil," interposed the schoolmaster; "so your little boy can occupy this room (where I was to have slept) undisturbed. Don't say no, for a dash of adventure has all imaginable charms for me."

According to Dutch fashion, every breath of air was carefully excluded from the room, so Mr. Treby set the door ajar, and the light from the lamp on the supper-table streamed across the floor.

An old Hottentot woman, with her shrivelled, yellow hand, brought a cool leaf to lay on Jack's forehead, and muttered something over him like a charm.

Tante Milligen herself fetched a pitcher of herbal tea, and then, with many maternal shakings of her head and sundry commiserative sounds, departed to her own slaap-kamé on the other side of the great room, into which all the doors of the house seemed to open, for the Boer's house was but one story high. There were lofts in the roof, where stores were kept, but these were reached by a wooden ladder outside the house, or through the trap-door which had had so large a share in Jack's delirious fancies.

He could have slept now, poor boy, but for the snoring duet that was kept up by the little sisters on the other side of the wall.

The Kafir servants, who had been playing scout all day by turns, came in to report that all was quiet. Walt decided to go with Otto to his hut by the sheep-kraals, as on the preceding night. Van Immerseel was persuaded to lie down on his bed; but he would not undress so that he could be roused at a moment's notice.

Walt looked in at Mr. Treby before he departed. They showed each other their loaded rifles, and nodded significantly, as if to say, "We are ready." Otto, who had followed, stooped down and picked up something from the floor.

"My knife!" cried Jack, starting upright.

"All right," said his father, laying him gently upon the pillows again.

The German backed into the outer room.

Thinking the entrance of the young men disturbed his Jack, Mr. Treby followed his example, and taking Walt by the arm, went out also.

Swarms of those hard-winged, spotted flies danced round and round the candle, until they stuck fast in the burning tallow. A menacing mosquito buzzed in the curtains of the bed, and banished Jack's last chance of sleep.

At last the house grew still. Mr. Treby set the door of Jack's room wide open, so that he might feel the refreshing night-breeze from the open windows of the sit-kamé.

Believing that his child was dozing, he sat down by the door, with his face buried in his hands.

Algarkirke waited impatiently for his reverie to end. At last he said, "We are countrymen, and in a distant land like this that means friends, and almost brothers, does it not?"

"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:

"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."

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.

VICKEL AND HER MASTER.

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.

Suddenly the oldest of these curly guards laid his keen head to the ground, and catching the echo of a far-off whistle, gave a look to his companions. Away they flew, raising a cloud of sand behind them, and leaving the children breathless with laughter.

The next day they made an excursion in an opposite direction, towards the rocks. All thought of danger from the free Kafirs was now set at rest.

"It was proved the thieves had come from civilized, not from savage life. More shame to them!" thought Jack. "If I had only been big enough to shoulder a rifle behind father, we should have been a match for them. Next time we'll see."

Away he walked, resolved to try his strength and make Sannie ride. By dint of persistency he carried his point, but was glad to compromise the matter and make frequent exchanges, which Genderen approved, observing, "Des is wohl" (that is well), as she felt proud of the success of their experiment, for Jack was getting well now as fast as he could.

They ate their fruit and cakes in what the Dutch children called a "kloof,"—that is, a narrow cleft in the nearest mass of rock, down which in time of rain a dashing cataract thundered, fed by a mountain stream. But the burning sunshine of that African summer had dried-up the fall to a few trickling drops.

A deep indented line of whitening sand divided the bottom of the valley. High overhead the precipitous rocks arose like the walls of a giant stronghold; and the tiny water-drops which oozed so slowly from their fractured sides fell with a musical sound on the smooth, flat stones at their feet—stones which had been polished to their present smoothness by the drip of ages. In this cool retreat, beneath the grateful shadow of the rocks, there grew a quivering tree. There was no one to tell Jack its nature or its name, but he gazed upon it in an ecstasy of delight and wonder. Lower down the bank of the dried-up stream a clump of young mimosas gave shelter to a covey of wild guinea-fowl.

As the children advanced, running and shouting to each other in their glee, the shy and timid guinea-chicks were frightened, and rising from the flat-crowned bushes, took their flight to the safer shelter of the rocks.

Off went Genderen and Zyl on the quest for eggs, creeping on their hands and knees where the tangle of underwood would have barred their progress. To such bird-nesting Jack had been a stranger; but after Genderen had shown him the first nest she had discovered, with its circle of dark pointed eggs, he comprehended their object and joined in the eager pursuit. Sannie was left to enjoy a nap in the little carriage, which they had drawn up beneath the shadow of the quivering tree.

Again and again Jack put his hand to his breast to be sure that weighty responsibility, the Bank of England note, was safe in his handkerchief. He was growing tired with the scrambling and the scratches, so he went back to the sleeping Sannie, and gathering a handful of rushes which grew upon the margin of the dried-up stream, plaited them into a small flat basket, just big enough to hold his treasure. He sewed the top together with a long and flexible rush, so that no one could catch a glimpse of even the white handkerchief, in which the letter and its important contents were wrapped up. Then he tied it round his neck once more, and satisfied at last that he had made it really safe, lay down by Sannie to rest. He had no idea that the little snoring bundle had slept with one eye open, and was very curious as to his proceedings, until she stretched out both her fat baby hands and pulled his shirt, inquiring with an infantine lisp that was almost irresistible to Jack, "Was is das?"

He took her on his knee, and with the remains of the rushes wove her a basket for her very own.

In that cool retreat the summer hours flew swiftly by, and the children never thought of returning; for Genderen had found a nest of tiny guinea-chicks, and Zyl had lined the empty luncheon-basket with soft dry grass to receive them. Genderen placed them in it with a careful hand, delighted with the prospect of carrying home so excellent a find.

As she extricated herself from the thicket, she saw a little bit of a scarlet blanket clinging to a mimosa leaf. A sudden thought struck her. She turned back, parted the branches, and looked eagerly between them. She saw a heap of gathered grass, crushed and pressed, as if it had been the sleeping-place of some wild animal. Genderen brushed her hand across her eyes, and stooping down, picked up a brass-headed pin she herself had given to the poor Black Antelope.

Here, then, was her retreat. Could she be hiding here still?

"No; she was on her way to her own country," persisted Zyl; "but they could not leave the kloof without a search."

Up and down the dried-up bed of the watercourse, on to every accessible ledge to be discovered on its rocky sides, went Zyl, prodding with a broken branch from the quivering tree into every hole and crevice, where it was possible and even where it was not possible for their hare-like friend to hide; but all in vain. The cold, hard rocks only echoed back the much loved name Zyl persisted in shouting at the very top of his voice.

"It is of no use," said Genderen sorrowfully. "When we get home, father will send the men with the dogs, and perhaps they will hurt her."

"They must bring me back with them," interposed Zyl, "to show them where she slept. Mind you don't describe it so that they can find it without me, Gen; and if they flog her, they will have to flog me first, that's all."

Having reached this decision, they ran across to Jack, who recognized the bit of scarlet blanket and the brass pin in a minute. He had felt too weak to take part in the search, but shared their grief at its failure. Zyl pointed out one source of comfort: poor Blackie would not starve with guinea-fowls' eggs to suck and the pure rock-water to drink. This was their consolation.

Zyl insisted upon Jack riding home, although Jack was sure Sannie could not walk so far; but there were the eggs to be conveyed, and Sannie might break them. Zyl was dogged, so Jack gave in and let Zyl tuck him up in his carriage. Then the Dutch boy brought an armful of grass, which he kneaded into a sort of nest on Jack's lap, and in this the eggs were piled. Genderen placed her precious basket of living chicks in his right hand, for she had a heavier task to perform in carrying Sannie.

Under such circumstances, their progress was of the slowest; and before they had progressed half a mile, they encountered Otto, who had come in search of them.

He had gone up to the house by chance, and finding Tante Milligen in a state of great anxiety because the children had not returned, he volunteered to ride round and look for them. He took up Genderen behind him and Sannie before him; but he left the boys to their own devices, knowing well that no power on earth could make Zyl quicken his pace and risk his eggs.

Sannie was delighted to find herself on the neck of Otto's horse, with his arm round her waist, holding her safe and fast. So she chattered on in her innocent way, half to herself and half to him. He was thinking more of Genderen's heavy sighs (for he knew she was dreading her mother's anger) than of Sannie's prattle, until she asked him to give her letters and paper to put in her basket like those Jack Treby kept in his. Then he lent a very earnest ear, asking her many questions.

XI.

OTTO THE SHEPHERD.

ZYL drove home his load in safety, but he thought it prudent to stop at one of the Kafirs' huts. Here he left Genderen's chicks in charge, and sent up his glorious find of eggs to the farm-house. Then he took fast hold of Jack's hand, and led him round by the back of the farm-buildings until they reached the foot of the ladder leading to the wool-loft. Jack did not often now resist his good-natured but self-willed friend. He had taken a leaf from Genderen's tactics, so they got on together admirably. Zyl insisted upon undressing him and putting him to bed. Jack could guess the reason why. Zyl meant to take the whole of the blame and its consequences upon his own shoulders.

Jack looked round the sloping roof and white-washed wall of his loft, with a sort of home-feeling he had never experienced before at Jaarsveldt, when it suddenly struck him it was looking more untidy than usual. Yes, he was certain all the things his father had packed up so neatly under the slope of the roof had been pulled about. Who could have done it? The loft had not been cleaned, for the floor was littered all over. He was too hungry to sleep and too anxious to know what sort of reception Zyl had met with, to rest anywhere.

Then he heard a noise as of horses' feet, and jumping up in bed saw the "oom" himself, on his great black horse, with Zyl behind him, and Walt on his fastest hunter at his side, with all the dogs and four or five of the Hottentots, starting for the rocks—in search of the poor Black Antelope, he could not doubt. Jack's heart ached for her; and he lay down and covered his face, thinking what it must be to wander forlorn and homeless in these wilds.

In a little while the ugly Kafir brought him a calabash of ox-tail soup, and after that he sank into the sound sleep of healthy childhood. Nothing less than two awkward hands pulling at the collar of his shirt would have wakened him that night. But there they were. He felt the knuckles pressing on his throat, and almost thought it was a dream. He put up his own to push them away, and took hold of real hands—the rough, strong hands of a man clutching at his treasure. He was wide awake in an instant, fighting them off. Something was over his eyes. He struggled hard, and freed himself for a moment. He felt a man's hot breath upon his cheek, and screamed out with all his might as he recognized the face of the German shepherd.

Would anybody come to his help? Could he even make himself heard in the dead of night? He remembered Van Immerseel and his sons were away. Yes, their absence had given Otto his opportunity. Jack saw it all, and grew cold with fear as he felt himself powerless in Otto's grasp. Then came the thought,—

"God sees, and he is ever more ready to help than we to ask."

But thought itself soon became impossible, for Otto was cramming the corner of the pillow into his mouth to stifle his cries. Jack tried hard to throw himself on his face. Somehow he managed to get the precious letter under him, and not all Otto's blows or low-voiced menaces could make him stir from this position.

Vickel, who was roosting, as usual, at the foot of Jack's ladder, had lifted a sleepy head when Otto passed her; but as she was now familiar with every one about the farm, she let him go up the ladder un-molested.

Jack's scream aroused her vigilance, and two bright eyes were watching every movement; for Vickel was quite tall enough, when she drew herself to her full height, to peep in at the door of the loft, which Otto had left wide open to gain light enough for his search. She could not see Jack, who had rolled himself in the bed-clothes, until Otto lifted him by main force from the pillow to which he still clung. Then Vickel sprang upon the ladder with a cry of mingled love and rage, and struck the intruder so fierce a blow with her closed beak that it sent him headlong on the floor. Before he had time to recover his feet she seized him by the leg with beak and claw, and dragged him out of the loft.

"Call her off! Call her off! Or she'll kill me," roared Otto as she once more lifted her formidable talon, ready to gore his flesh from the bones.

When Jack, as white as ashes, and with scarcely voice enough to make himself heard, called, "Vic, Vic, Vic!" just as he had called her at feeding-time all her life. He snatched up some of the peas which were lying by his pop-gun and flung them towards her. With the beautiful docility of an ostrich, she turned and dropped her foe. The angry eyes grew eloquent with love, and the beak that was dealing death to Otto was stooped obediently to peck the peas in Jack's trembling hand. He leaned against her faithful breast, for the loft swam round, and he thought he must have fallen. But with the comprehension love alone can lend, Vickel spread her feathery shield above his head, and drawing him to her, brooded over him as a hen broods over her chicks.

Jack peeped between the soft gray plumes of her sheltering wings, for he heard Otto groan, and now he saw him, a dark heap at the foot of the ladder. He had been stunned by his fall; but he soon began to move and mutter threats of vengeance on Jack and his ostrich.

"It was your own fault, Mr. Otto," said Jack firmly. "What did you come here for to pull me out of bed in the middle of the night? Vickel would have killed you if I had not stopped her. You know that as well as I do."

The German got up stiffly. "You made me cross," he grumbled. "You snored like a pig, and you would not answer me. I came to fetch that bank-note. It is not safe for a child like you to carry so much money about with you. Come, hand it down, or you'll be robbed and murdered some of these days with all those coloured fellows about. If I have given you a fright, it was to show you your danger."

"Oh indeed, Mr. Otto," retorted Jack with a laugh. "I have no need to be afraid of anybody. You see what good care my ostrich takes of me. You had better talk about this to my father. I daresay he will be home in the morning."

Jack's words were brave and bold, for he looked upon Otto as a beaten enemy. The German said no more, for Vickel made an angry dart at his uncovered head, and in his terror at the thought of a second attack, he turned and fled away as fast as his hurt leg would permit.

Jack lay cuddled by his darling Vic until the strange coldness had passed over, and his manful little heart had ceased to beat so wildly. The glorious brightness of the moonlight had given place to a chill creeping mist. It was the dreariest hour of all the night, but it was bringing back the day. After a while the mist began to lift, and the morning sun arose in all its splendour. Then Jack knelt down by Vickel's side, and clasping his hands together, poured out the fulness of his heart in prayer. The joy of his thanksgiving for his hair's-breadth escape, and the earnest cry for help and guidance, scarcely found utterance in words, for blinding, choking tears came at last to his relief.

The broken words, the gasping sobs, touched the heart of the Kafir groom, who had risen at daybreak expecting his master's return. As soon as the humming, droning song of the black dairymaid announced her presence among the milk-pails, he went across and told her "that poor lamb without a mother" was very sore at heart—wailing over the fate of the Black Antelope, he doubted not, for the white lamb from the fold was much loved by the dark hind from the upper veldt, as they both knew.

Then the dairymaid came and listened, and picked up a man's hat at the foot of the ladder. Gorya the groom took it and hid it in the back of his stable with a grin. He knew the owner of the hat at a glance, and muttered to himself, "What's he been up to here?"

Much pleased with Jack's sympathy for their fellow-countrywoman (for they both knew well how earnestly he had pleaded for her on the night of her offence), the two Kafirs would have gone to him at once but for Vickel's menacing glances, for she had settled herself in the doorway, and refused to stir for any one.

When Jack found the farm-servants were about, his spirits returned, and he began to think over his night's adventure. How was he to explain what had happened to the Immerseels? In truth, he dare not say a single word to any one of them, for he could not make them understand, and then they would send for Otto to tell them what he was saying.

"Yes," thought Jack, "Mr. Otto sees this just as clearly as I do, and so he thinks he can do as he likes, as much wrong as he likes, and carry all before him with a high hand; but he cannot deceive me. He is a bad man. He came to steal this bank-note; I'm sure he did."

Jack's reflections were cut short by the sound of horses' feet, and looking out of the door of his loft, he saw the "oom" ride in, with Zyl behind him. He watched the party dismount, but the Black Antelope was not with them. To make quite sure that he was not mistaken, Jack ran down his ladder and seized his friend by both hands, looking earnestly in his face. Zyl knew well enough what he wanted to ask, and replied to him and to Genderen, who was signalling the same inquiry from the window of her slaap-kamé, with a shake of his head, repeating the pathetic Dutch word "verloren" (lost).

Genderen burst into tears. She did not appear at the early breakfast prepared for the search-party.

Jack went indoors with his friend, and breakfasted on mutton-chops, listening attentively to the conversation, and gathering its sense more from tone and gesture than from actual words.

Yes, the search had been fruitless. Zyl was sent off to bed, grumbling and weary. Feeling himself safe indoors, with the "oom" nodding in his huge arm-chair just opposite, Jack coiled himself up on Sannie's sheep-skin, and was soon asleep. He was wakened by the sound of Tante Milligen's voice, and a very solemn voice it was. He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, with all her maids gathered round her, listening open-mouthed whilst she narrated something which had happened to herself in the night.

Jack caught the words "Das ein nacht" (this very night), and was up in a moment. Had Tante Milligen sent Mr. Otto after all? Jack had become very skilful at pantomime by this time, so he ran up to her and asked, by looking very earnestly in her face and taking hold of her hand, if she wanted him? Tante Milligen shook her head.

"Das ein nacht," repeated Jack.

She held up her hands and turned to her eager, interested auditors, who echoed back their mistress's exclamation, each in her own peculiar fashion.

The truth was Tante Milligen had heard a noise in the night—a noise like thunder, she averred. It was just as if a heavy weight had been thrown down suddenly over her head. Like most of the females among the Dutch Boers, Tante Milligen, although a brave woman, was fearfully superstitious. A noise outside the house would not have frightened her half so much, even if it had proved to be another Kafir scare. But this mysterious noise inside the house, what could it mean?

When Jack came up to her with the traces of the night's excitement still visible in his pale cheeks and circled eyes, she only thought he had heard it too, and of course any child must be frightened. She was pleased that it confirmed her own experience, for one of those shameless Hottentots had positively suggested that she must have been dreaming.

"Slaap wohl?" she asked Jack, who shook his head most decidedly. Having had that question put to him every morning during his illness, he knew what it meant, and did his best to make her understand he had not slept at all.

Overcome with compassion, Tante Milligen sat down on the nearest chair, and took the little English boy on her lap, giving him a motherly hug and calling her maids one by one to notice the blackness of the circles under his eyes. This was indeed treating him like a baby; but Jack was not so aggravated by it as he had been when Walt laid him down on Sannie's sheep-skin, because it convinced him Tante Milligen would have interfered if she had had the least idea that Otto had been trying to frighten him.

Then Genderen came to fetch him. Tante Milligen said he would be better out of doors; besides she wished to keep the house quiet until her sons should awaken. Jack took Sannie's hand and wandered about with her, keeping very near the farm-gate, for fear of meeting Otto. Genderen was seated on the steop, shelling pepper, ready for one of the maids to pound. Jack would willingly have helped her, but he was looking for Vickel.

His giant fairy was far too stately a creature to be overlooked, yet she seemed to have vanished. He thought of the day when he lost her before; but Genderen's fluffy charges were all safe with their respective mothers. Everything was as usual, only his own ostrich was nowhere to be seen. Could anybody have hurt his Vickel? Jack's blood was boiling at the thought. He rushed back to Genderen, and showing her a dirty feather his bird had dropped, repeated her own mournful word, "verloren" (lost).

But Genderen smiled reassuringly, and pointed in the direction of their own ostrich camp.

At that moment the shepherd came out of the granary, and apparently thinking the farm-yard was deserted, began to pull about the loose straw at the bottom of the stack where Jack had taken his siesta on that unlucky day when he fell ill with the fever. The children saw him through the open gate, and the Kafir groom watched him behind the stable door. His movements were awkward, for he was stiff and sore, and his hat was pulled over his eyes—his Sunday hat!

The girls began to laugh at the incongruity of his appearance. At the sound of their merriment, Otto left his search, and limping up to them, turned to Jack with a scowl, saying,—"The 'oom' has ordered that vicious bird of yours to be shut up as long as it is here. The cow-keeper has been telling him how it flew at Sannie."

"Zyl can tell him more about that than the cow-keeper, and perhaps I could tell him more about last night than you did, Mr. Otto," retorted Jack.

"See if I don't take your English impudence out of you some of these days," growled Otto.

Jack's blood was up, and his prudence was nowhere, so he answered hotly, "Then you will just rouse the British bull-dog. Don't you know he would die rather than let you or any man touch a rag that was in his care."

"Oh, oh!" sneered the German. "And where is the brute to be found?"

"Here," returned Jack proudly, laying his hand on his own heart. "I don't imagine English boys were made of poorer stuff than a dog in his kennel; do you?"

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,—