increased effort. Round the edges of the patch four or five Kaffir
women walked, each at a different point, and each in possession of a
five-gallon empty paraffin tin and a stick, with which to strengthen
and augment the noisy defence. The locusts were reinforced every
minute, and they made repeated and determined efforts to sample the
young mealies, but the horsemen and the paraffin tins were too much
for them.

A small white boy was standing near the fat lady, watching the
proceedings with a critical eye. His dress was very primitive, and his
home-made veldschoens were very large, but he was a healthy-looking
boy.

'Ma,' he said at length, looking up into the fat lady's face, 'I see
something.'

This was rather a peculiar remark to make, because undoubtedly he must
see something, not being blind.

'Yes,' returned his 'ma,' without taking her eyes off the mealie
patch, 'what do you see, son?'

'I won't tell you, ma.'

'Ma' paid no particular attention to this decision on the part of her
small son, but he continued to look into his 'ma's' face as if
uncertain about something.

'Ma, I won't tell you what I see,' he continued, coming up closer to
the stout lady and catching hold of her hand.

'Why won't you tell me, son?' asked 'ma,' looking down affectionately
upon the white head of her boy.

'Not until you promise me something, ma.'

'Well, what must I promise you?'

The boy hesitated for a minute before replying. He had apparently
grave doubts as to whether 'ma' would concede even if he did ask her.

'Ma, I want to shoot Witbooi with my gun.'

Witbooi was a Kaffir umfaan, who had no particular liking for his
young Baas.

'I can't promise you that until your pa comes home, Gert,' said his
'ma,' patting him lovingly on the head, and at the same time lending
her critical eye to the mealie business.

The boy left his mother's side and walked away a few yards, evidently
disgusted with unsympathetic 'mas.' Then, apparently changing his
mind, he ran towards her again, and clung to her dress, meantime
looking up in her face.

'I'll tell you, ma--I'll tell you,' he said laughingly.

'That's a good boy,' said 'ma,' again patting him on the head.

'I see waggons coming; that's it!' exclaimed the boy, running away
playfully, and observing with evident satisfaction the look of
surprise on his mother's face, as if it atoned somewhat for the
disappointment regarding the fate of Witbooi.

Billing and Sons