lanket-draped form she could see bending over a fire into
which he was blowing life, to make haste with the coffee.

"By and by, Missie--by and by," he answered, coughing the rank smoke
from his lungs. "Kettle no sing yet, and fire black as hell."

Benita reflected that popular report painted this locality red, but
without entering into argument sat still upon the chest waiting till the
water boiled and her father appeared.

Presently he emerged from under the side flap of the waggon where he
slept, and remarking that it was really too cold to think of washing,
climbed to her side by help of the disselboom, and kissed her.

"How far are we now from Rooi Krantz, Father?" she asked, for that was
the name of Mr. Clifford's farm.

"About forty miles, dear. The waggon cannot make it to-night with these
two sick oxen, but after the midday outspan we will ride on, and be
there by sundown. I am afraid you are tired of this trekking."

"No," she answered. "I like it very much; it is so restful, and I sleep
sound upon that cartel. I feel as though I should like to trek on for
the rest of my life."

"So you shall if you wish, dear, for whole months. South Africa is big,
and when the grass grows, if you still wish it, we will take a long
journey."

She smiled, but made no answer, knowing that he was thinking of the
place so far away where he believed that once the Portuguese had buried
gold.

The kettle was singing now merrily enough, and Hans, the cook, lifting
it from the fire in triumph--for his blowing exertions had been
severe--poured into it a quantity of ground coffee from an old mustard
tin. Then, having stirred the mixture with a stick, he took a red
ember from the fire and dropped it into the kettle, a process which, as
travellers in the veld know well, has a clearing effect upon the coffee.
Next he produced pannikins, and handed them up with a pickle jar full
of sugar to Mr. Clifford, upon the waggon chest. Milk they had none, yet
that coffee tasted a great deal better than it looked; indeed, Benita
drank two cups of it to warm herself and wash down the hard biscuit.
Before the day was over glad enough was she that she had done so.

The sun was rising; huge and red it looked seen through the clinging
mist, and, their breakfast finished, Mr. Clifford gave orders that the
oxen, which were filling themselves with the dry grass near at hand,
should be got up and inspanned. The voorlooper, a Zulu boy, who had left