o dreameth.

Our fathers had their dream; we have ours; the generation that follows
will have its own. Without dreams and phantoms man cannot exist.

Chapter 2.XIV. Waldo Goes Out to Sit in the Sunshine.

It had been a princely day. The long morning had melted slowly into a
rich afternoon. Rains had covered the karoo with a heavy coat of green
that hid the red earth everywhere. In the very chinks of the stone walls
dark green leaves hung out, and beauty and growth had crept even into
the beds of the sandy furrows and lined them with weeds. On the broken
sod walls of the old pigsty chick-weeds flourished, and ice-plants
lifted heir transparent leaves. Waldo was at work in the wagon-house
again. He was making a kitchen table for Em. As the long curls gathered
in heaps before his plane, he paused for an instant now and again to
throw one down to a small naked nigger, who had crept from its
mother, who stood churning in the sunshine, and had crawled into the
wagon-house.

From time to time the little animal lifted its fat hand as it expected
a fresh shower of curls; till Doss, jealous of his master's noticing any
other small creature but himself, would catch the curl in his mouth and
roll the little Kaffer over in the sawdust, much to that small animal's
contentment. It was too lazy an afternoon to be really ill-natured, so
Doss satisfied himself with snapping at the little nigger's fingers,
and sitting on him till he laughed. Waldo, as he worked, glanced down at
them now and then, and smiled; but he never looked out across the plain.
He was conscious without looking of that broad green earth; it made his
work pleasant to him. Near the shadow at the gable the mother of the
little nigger stood churning. Slowly she raised and let fall the stick
in her hands, murmuring to herself a sleepy chant such as her people
love; it sounded like the humming of far-off bees.

A different life showed itself in the front of the house, where Tant
Sannie's cart stood ready inspanned and the Boer-woman herself sat in
the front room drinking coffee.

She had come to visit her stepdaughter, probably for the last time, as
she now weighed two hundred and sixty pounds, and was not easily able
to move. On a chair sat her mild young husband nursing the baby--a
pudding-faced, weak-eyed child.

"You take it and get into the cart with it," said Tant Sannie. "What do
you want here, listening to our woman's talk?"

The young man arose, and me