me here,” she said; and she knelt, and listened to every word they said. She could hear it all.     

       “You may have all the money,” said the Bushman; “but I want the cask of brandy. I will set the roof alight in six places, for a Dutchman burnt my mother once alive in a hut, with three children.”      

       “You are sure there is no one else on the farm?” said the navvy.     

       “No, I have told you till I am tired,” said Dirk; “The two Kaffirs have gone with the son to town; and the maids have gone to a dance; there is only the old man and the two women left.”      

       “But suppose,” said the navvy, “he should have the gun at his bedside, and loaded!”      

       “He never has,” said Dirk; “it hangs in the passage, and the cartridges too. He never thought when he bought it what work it was for! I only wish the little white girl was there still,” said Dirk; “but she is drowned. We traced her footmarks to the great pool that has no bottom.”      

       She listened to every word, and they talked on.     

       Afterwards, the little Bushman, who crouched over the fire, sat up suddenly, listening.     

       “Ha! what is that?” he said.     

       A Bushman is like a dog: his ear is so fine he knows a jackal’s tread from a wild dog’s.     

       “I heard nothing,” said the navvy.     

       “I heard,” said the Hottentot; “but it was only a cony on the rocks.”      

       “No cony, no cony,” said the Bushman; “see, what is that there moving in the shade round the point?”      

       “Nothing, you idiot!” said the navvy. “Finish your meat; we must start now.”      

       There were two roads to the homestead. One went along the open plain, and was by far the shortest; but you might be seen half a mile off. The other ran along the river bank, where there were rocks, and holes, and willow trees to hide among. And all down the river bank ran a little figure.     

       The river was 

 Prev. P 8/20 next