he
should be left to shift for himself, but observing his white skin he did
not venture to interfere.

The child, evidently satisfied that he had found a friend, lay quietly
in the strong arms of the trader, who walked on with rapid steps,
carrying him as if he had been an infant.

The camp was soon reached, and the trader, placing the boy on some skins
in the shade of the waggon, ordered one of his Kaffirs who acted as cook
to get some broth ready, while he sent off another to obtain fresh water
from the spring.

This done, he examined the wound in the boy's arm, more carefully than
he had before been able to do. He first got out of the waggon a salve
and some lint, with some linen bandages; for he was too experienced a
hunter to travel without articles which might occasionally be of the
greatest necessity.

Having taken off the handkerchief and carefully washed the wound in warm
water, he dressed it with the skill of a surgeon. The boy looked up
gratefully in his new friend's face, but still did not speak. The
trader having in vain endeavoured to obtain an answer when addressing
him in English or Dutch, he at last spoke to him in Kaffir.

The boy at once said, "I thank you, white stranger, for what you have
done for me. I thought at first that you belonged to those who had
killed our people, and that you were going to kill me. Now I know that
you are my friend."

"You are right, my boy; I wish to be so," said the trader. "But tell
me, how comes it that you who are white, cannot speak your native
tongue?"

"I have been so long with the Zulus that I have forgotten it," answered
the boy. "I once could speak it, and I well remember the white people I
lived amongst. For a long time I remembered my native language; but as
I always, since I could speak, knew some Kaffir, I soon understood what
was said to me. I had a black nurse, but she was assegaid, and I was
torn from her arms by the Zulus who carried me off. More than that I
cannot tell."

The kind-hearted trader was obliged to be content with this information.
He was unwilling indeed, till the poor boy had regained his strength,
further to question him, and he hoped to learn more of his history from
Mangaleesu and Kalinda, who he had no doubt would be able to afford it.

Having given the boy some of the broth which was now ready, and placed a
blanket under his head to serve as a pillow, he left Umgolo to watch
over him. He then went and sat down b