ke
out suddenly an hour later as we were resting, having gained the
objective of our Sunday afternoon stroll--a beautiful spot deep down in
a kloof, where a pile of rocks all festooned with maidenhair fern
overhung a large water-hole, and on the lower side steep upsweeping
slopes of foliage cut a sharp V of green and gold against the azure of
an unclouded sky, while the varied call and whistle of birds kept up a
continuous echo of melody. Whoever it was who gave rise to the saying
that South African birds have no song is guilty of libel, for the
varying and melodious cheeriness of the bird voices, at any rate in bush
country, constitutes one of its greatest charms, and the very
unfamiliarity of these is in effective keeping with the wildness of the
surroundings.

"Well, for some little time, at any rate," I answered.

"I'm glad. You're rather a good chap, you know, Mr Holt."

Beryl and I exchanged glances, she intensely amused, while I laughed
outright.

"I didn't know it, Iris; but am delighted to learn the fact on your
indisputable authority," I answered.

She flung a handful of grass sprays at me, which she had been absently
plucking.

"Don't use those beastly long words," she said. "No, but really I am
glad."

The straight glance of the pretty blue eyes full upon my face expressed
all a delightful child's genuine liking. I own to having felt in my
innermost self considerably moved thereby.

"I must take off my hat this time," I said, suiting the action to the
word with a sweep of mock elaboration. "Miss Matterson, will you second
the resolution just proposed?" I added, turning to Beryl.

"Ah, why do you always say `Miss Matterson'?" interrupted Iris
decisively. "It's so stiff. Why don't you say `Beryl'?"

"May I?" was the obvious rejoinder--indeed, the only possible one.

"Why not, Mr Holt? I'm sure if there is anybody whom we have every
reason to look upon as one of ourselves it is you." Yet with the words,
frank and friendly as they were, ever so slight a colour had come into
the sweet calm face. But before I could make any reply Iris emitted a
loud whistle.

"Look at that, Beryl," she cried derisively. "And then you call him
`Mr Holt.'"

"The very thing I was going to remark upon," I said.

"Very well, then," said Beryl. "Then I won't do it again." This time
the colour had disappeared, but I could have sworn I caught a momentary
look in those soulful eyes that would have justified