which he took his gun
and told Jantje to saddle up his shooting pony. He was standing on the
verandah, waiting for the pony to appear, and by him was Bessie, looking
particularly attractive in a white dress, when suddenly he caught sight
of Frank Muller's great black horse, and upon it that gentleman himself,
cantering up the avenue of blue gums.

"Hullo, Miss Bessie," he said, "here comes your friend."

"Bother!" said Bessie, stamping her foot; and then, with a quick look,
"Why do you call him my friend?"

"I imagine that he considers himself so, to judge from the number of
times a week he comes to see you," John answered with a shrug. "At any
rate, he isn't mine, so I am off shooting. Good-bye. I hope that you
will enjoy yourself."

"You are not kind," she said in a low voice, turning her back upon him.

In another moment he was gone, and Frank Muller had arrived.

"How do you do, Miss Bessie?" he said, jumping from his horse with the
rapidity of a man who had been accustomed to rough riding all his life.
"Where is the _rooibaatje_ off to?"

"Captain Niel is going out shooting," she said coldly.

"So much the better for you and me, Miss Bessie. We can have a pleasant
talk. Where is that black monkey Jantje? Here, Jantje, take my horse,
you ugly devil, and mind you look after him, or I'll cut the liver out
of you!"

Jantje took the horse, with a forced grin of appreciation at the joke,
and led him off to the stable.

"I don't think that Jantje likes you, _Meinheer_ Muller," said Bessie,
spitefully, "and I do not wonder at it if you talk to him like that. He
told me the other day that he had known you for twenty years," and she
looked at him inquiringly.

This casual remark produced a strange effect on her visitor, who turned
colour beneath his tanned skin.

"He lies, the black hound," he said, "and I'll put a bullet through him
if he says it again! What should I know about him, or he about me? Can
I keep count of every miserable man-monkey I meet?" and he muttered a
string of Dutch oaths into his long beard.

"Really, _Meinheer!_" said Bessie.

"Why do you always call me '_Meinheer_'?" he asked, turning so fiercely
on her that she started back a step. "I tell you I am not a Boer. I
am an Englishman. My mother was English; and besides, thanks to Lord
Carnarvon, we are all English now."

"I don't see why you should mind being thought a Boer," she said coolly:
"there are some very good people among the