the name was magical.

"_Kyk_! Do you know Mynheer Botma, then?" asked the old Boer, in
round-eyed astonishment.

"We had a great talk together at Stephanus De la Rey's the other night,
Oom Sarel," responded Colvin; "but come along with us, and see if he has
arrived at Wenlock's to-night."

This invitation the old man declined, though somewhat reluctantly. "He
could not leave home," he said. "But the bird--of course they must keep
it. A friend of the Patriot! Well, well, Colvin must not mind what had
been said at first. He," the speaker, "had been a little put out that
day, and was growing old." Then exchanging fills out of each other's
pouch, they literally smoked the pipe of peace together, and parted amid
much cordial handshaking.

"There's a sign of the times for you, Frank," said Colvin as they
resumed their way. "Andries Botma's name is one to conjure with these
days. But note how his influence crops up all along the line! Even old
Sarel Van der Vyver was prepared to make himself disagreeable. Not a
Dutchman round here will hesitate to join the Transvaal, if things go at
all wrong with us."

"I'd cut short his influence with a bullet or a rope if I were Milner,"
growled Frank.

Soon, in the distance, the homestead came in sight Colvin dropped into
silence, letting his thoughts wander forth to the welcome that awaited
him, and the central figure of that welcome spelt May Wenlock. He was
not in love with her, yet she appealed to more than one side of his
nature. She was very pretty, and very companionable; and girls of whom
that could be said were very few and far between in the Wildschutsberg
surroundings. Several of the Boer girls were the first, but few of them
had any ideas, being mostly of the fluffy-brained, giggling type. May
was attractive to him, undeniably so, but if he tried to analyse it he
decided that it was because they had been thrown so much together; and
if he had evoked any partiality in her, he supposed it was for the same
reason--there was no one else.

"Who's that likely to be, Frank?" he said, as they drew near enough to
make out a male figure on the stoep.

"Eh? Who? Where?" returned Frank, starting up, for he was drowsy.
"_Maagtig_, it looks like Upton, the scab-inspector. _Ja_. It is."

No--there was nothing lacking in the welcome that shone in May's eyes,
thought Colvin, as they exchanged a hand-pressure. And he was conscious
of a very decided feeling of grat