there had been no news
of Lieutenant Meadows and his patrol. Three hundred yards to the right
front was a tiny farm. A solitary upstart on the bare veldt. An
architectural nightmare in red brick. Already a patrol from the
advance screen of dragoons was edging towards it, lured by that
magnetism irresistible to every British soldier. A magnetism prompted
from beneath the belt, and which no military precaution, or
experience, or solicitude for personal safety will eradicate from the
canteen-bred soldier. If our scouts had been as farm-shy as so many of
them have proved gun-shy, it would have made an appreciable difference
in the casualty lists of the campaign. The brigadier looked upon the
farm. It cannot be said that he found it fair, within the artistic
meaning of the phrase. But there was a pan,[17] which meant water for
the horses, and doubtless there was a hen-house and a buttery.

"Mr Intelligence, we will have breakfast at that farm. Let the
advance-guard move on another half-mile, then Freddy will be able to
water his horses in comfort. Here, who is commanding the
advance-guard? Have you told your men to rally on that farm?"

"No, sir."

"Then you had better look after them."

Away the youth went at a gallop, and it was about time, as the right
flank had evidently divined success in the attitude of the first
patrol, which had stopped at the farm, and the ungainly red edifice
was exercising its magnetic effect upon the whole advance-guard. When
the officer commanding the advance-guard arrived, dragoon No. 1
already had his head buried in a bucketful of milk, while dragoon No.
2 was indiscriminately stuffing as many eggs and pats of butter into a
square of red handkerchief as the said square would contain.

The brigadier moved up to the homestead, and threw his reins to his
orderly. The family paraded on the stoep, as all Dutch families do on
similar occasions. And, as is the custom of the country, the brigadier
shook hands with them all with great dignity. But he had no eyes for
Oom Jan of the massive head and bushy beard, no eyes for the stout
madam his _frau_, nor for his six solid and lumpy daughters, for he
was busy breaking the tenth commandment. In front of the house, on the
beaten clay clearing, stood a truly magnificent carriage--a
four-wheeled family spring-cart, rich in upholstered cover,
electroplated bits, and cut-glass finishings. The brigadier examined
it carefully, and then sent his orderly to