eassured, yet furtively hoping
that the smile wherewith he accepted the reassurance was not a very
sickly one. But the other did not notice it, and now fairly on the
subject, launched out into a narrative of Lyn's sayings and doings, as
it seemed, from the time of her birth right up till now, and it was late
before he pulled up, with profuse apologies for having bored the very
soul out of his guest, and that on a subject in which the latter could
take but small interest.

But Blachland reassured him by declaring that he had not been bored in
the very least, and so far from feeling small interest in the matter, he
had been very intensely interested.

And the strangest thing of all was that he meant it--every word.

CHAPTER FIVE.

AN EPISODE IN SIEVER'S KLOOF.

The days sped by and still Hilary Blachland remained as a guest at
George Bayfield's farm.

He had talked about moving on, but the suggestion had been met by a
frank stare of astonishment on the part of his host.

"Where's your hurry, man?" had replied the latter. "Why, you've only
just come."

"Only just come! You don't seem to be aware, Bayfield, that I've been
here nearly four weeks."

"No, I'm not. But what then? What if it's four or fourteen or forty?
You don't want to go up-country again just yet. By the way, though, it
must be mighty slow here."

"Now, Bayfield, I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings, but you're
talking bosh, rank bosh. I don't believe you know it, though. Slow
indeed!"

"Perhaps Mr Blachland's tired of us, father," said Lyn demurely, but
with a spice of mischief.

"Well, you know, you yourselves can have too much of a not very good
thing," protested Hilary, rather lamely.

"Ha-ha! Now we'll turn the tables. Who's talking bosh this time?" said
Bayfield triumphantly.

"Man, Mr Blachland, you mustn't go yet," cut in small Fred excitedly.
"Stop and shoot some more bushbucks."

"Very well, Fred. No one can afford to run clean counter to public
opinion. So that settles it," replied Blachland gaily.

"That's all right," said Bayfield. "And we haven't taken him over to
Earle's yet. I know what we'll do. We'll send and let Earle know we
are all coming over for a couple of nights, and he must get up a shoot
in between. Then we'll show him the pretty widow."

A splutter from Fred greeted the words. "She isn't pretty a bit," he
pronounced. "A black, ugly thing."

"Look out, sonny," laughed his father. "S