snuff,
and relate in what particular collection of rocks on the hillside he and
his wives slept the last night--for when the Boers are out on commando
the Kafirs will not sleep in their huts for fear of being surprised and
shot down. Then the pair would spend half an hour or so in speculating
on what would be their fate when the Boer had eaten up the Englishman
and taken back the country, and finally come to the conclusion that they
had better emigrate to Natal.

Bessie, on the verandah, noted all this going on, every now and again
catching snatches of the lazy rascals' talk, which chimed in but too
sadly with her own thoughts. Turning from them impatiently, she began
to watch the hens marching solemnly about the drive, followed by their
broods. This picture, also, had a sanguinary background, for under an
orange-tree two rival cocks were fighting furiously. They always did
this about once a week, nor did they cease from troubling till each
retired, temporarily blinded, to the shade of a separate orange-tree,
where they spent the rest of the week in recovering, only to emerge when
the cure was effected and fight their battle over again. Meanwhile, a
third cock, young in years but old in wisdom, who steadily refused to
retaliate when attacked, looked after the hens in dispute. To-day the
fray was particularly ferocious, and, fearing that the combatants would
have no eyes left at all if she did not interfere, Bessie called to the
old Boer hound who was lying in the sun on the verandah.

"Hi, Stomp, Stomp--hunt them, Stomp!"

Up jumped Stomp and made a prodigious show of furiously attacking the
embattled cocks; it was an operation to which he was used, and which
afforded him constant amusement. Suddenly, however, as he dashed towards
the trees, the dog stopped midway, his simulated wrath ceased, and
instead of it, an expression of real disgust grew upon his honest face.
Then the hair along his backbone stood up like the quills upon the
fretful porcupine, and he growled.

"A strange Kafir, I expect," said Bessie to herself.

Stomp hated strange Kafirs. She had scarcely uttered the words
before they were justified by the appearance of a native. He was a
villainous-looking fellow, with one eye, and nothing on but a ragged
pair of trousers fastened round the middle with a greasy leather strap.
In his wool, however, were stuck several small distended bladders such
as are generally worn by medicine-men and witch-doctors. Wi