were the weeks out of which he
did not contrive to filch one extra day--not to help us in any work, oh
dear no, for he looked upon it as a distinct grievance to be required to
do any such thing--but to amuse himself. To-day he had started for the
Zwaart Kloof alone to try and sneak a bush-buck. But if the young
rascal was at play, Brian and I were tolerably hard at work; had been
rather, for we had spent the morning strengthening and repairing the
bush fence of one of our enclosures; and chopping mimosa boughs and then
beating them into place is a fairly muscular phase of manual labour on a
hot day. Now we were pausing for a rest.

But if it was a hot day it was a lovely one--lovely and cloudless. A
shimmer of heat lay upon the wide valley, and all the life of the veldt
was astir--bird voices calling far and near, the melodious hoot of the
hoepoe from the distance, the quaint, half-whistling, half-rasping
dialogue of a pair of yellow thrushes hard by, or the bold cheery pipe
of sheeny-winged spreuws flashing among the bush sprays. Insect sounds,
too; the bass boom of some big beetle rising above the murmuring hum of
bees, and the screech of innumerable crickets. In sooth, if our work
was hard, it was set amid exquisite surroundings, and, as though no
element of romance should be lacking, I thought to discern from time to
time the flutter of a light dress about the homestead, nearly a mile
distant beneath us, as though reminding myself, at any rate, that after
labour came recreation, which to me spelt Beryl.

No opportunity had I found for renewing the subject so ruthlessly
interrupted yesterday during our ride home, and now I was tormented by
an uncomfortable misgiving as to whether Beryl was not purposely
avoiding any such opportunity.

We got up from the grateful shade under which we had been resting, and,
hatchet in hand, started in on another spell, and for nearly an hour
were chopping and hauling, and banging the great mimosa boughs into
place so that the thorns should interlace with those already laid down.
Then Brian suggested we should go back to dinner, and return and finish
up when it was cooler, but before we could put this plan into execution
the trampling of hoofs was heard drawing rapidly near, at a pace that
was out of the way reckless and unnecessary.

"That's George," said Brian, "but if he's shot anything he hasn't loaded
it up. Hey! Hullo! What luck, George?"

The latter would have passe