felt hat above that. His nose was flat, his eyes like slits, and the wool on his head was gathered into little round balls. He came to the milk-bush, and looked at the little girl lying in the hot sun. Then he walked off, and caught one of the fattest little Angora goats, and held its mouth fast, as he stuck it under his arm. He looked back to see that she was still sleeping, and jumped down into one of the sluits. He walked down the bed of the sluit a little way and came to an overhanging bank, under which, sitting on the red sand, were two men. One was a tiny, ragged, old bushman, four feet high; the other was an English navvy, in a dark blue blouse. They cut the kid’s throat with the navvy’s long knife, and covered up the blood with sand, and buried the entrails and skin. Then they talked, and quarrelled a little; and then they talked quietly again.
The Hottentot man put a leg of the kid under his coat and left the rest of the meat for the two in the sluit, and walked away.
When little Jannita awoke it was almost sunset. She sat up very frightened, but her goats were all about her. She began to drive them home. “I do not think there are any lost,” she said.
Dirk, the Hottentot, had brought his flock home already, and stood at the kraal door with his ragged yellow trousers. The fat old Boer put his stick across the door, and let Jannita’s goats jump over, one by one. He counted them. When the last jumped over: “Have you been to sleep today?” he said; “there is one missing.”
Then little Jannita knew what was coming, and she said, in a low voice, “No.” And then she felt in her heart that deadly sickness that you feel when you tell a lie; and again she said, “Yes.”
“Do you think you will have any supper this evening?” said the Boer.
“No,” said Jannita.
“What do you think you will have?”
“I don’t know,” said Jannita.
“Give me your whip,” said the Boer to Dirk, the Hottentot.
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