ck John as he entered that some of these did not seem best
pleased to see him, and he thought he heard one young fellow, with
a hang-dog expression of face, mutter something about the "damned
Englishman" to his neighbour rather more loudly than was necessary to
convey his sentiments. However, old Coetzee came forward to greet him
heartily enough, and called to his daughters--two fine girls, very
smartly dressed for Dutch women--to give the Captain a cup of coffee.
Then John made the rounds after the Boer fashion, and beginning with the
old lady in the chair, received a lymphatic shake of the hand from every
single soul in the room. They did not rise--it is not customary to do
so--they merely extended their paws, all of them more or less damp, and
muttered the mystic monosyllable "_Daag_," short for good-day. It is
a very trying ceremony till one gets used to it, and John pulled up
panting, to be presented with a cup of hot coffee that he did not want,
but which it would be rude not to drink.

"The Captain is the _rooibaatje?_" said the old lady "Aunt" Coetzee
interrogatively, and yet with the certainty of one who states a fact.

John signified that he was.

"What does the Captain come to the 'land' for? Is it to spy?"

The whole audience listened attentively to their hostess's question,
then turned their heads to listen for the answer.

"No. I have come to farm with Silas Croft."

There was a general smile of incredulity. Could a _rooibaatje_ farm?
Certainly not.

"There are three thousand men in the British army," announced the old
_vrouw_ oracularly, and casting a severe glance at the wolf in sheep's
clothing, the man of blood who pretended to farm.

Everybody looked at John again, and awaited his answer in dead silence.

"There are more than a hundred thousand men in the regular British army,
and as many more in the Indian army, and twice as many more volunteers,"
he said, in a rather irritated voice.

This statement also was received with the most discouraging incredulity.

"There are three thousand men in the British army," repeated the old
lady, in a tone of certainty that was positively crushing.

"Yah, yah!" chimed in some of the younger men in chorus.

"There are three thousand men in the British army," she repeated for the
third time in triumph. "If the Captain says that there are more he lies.
It is natural that he should lie about his own army. My grandfather's
brother was at Cape Town in the t