s horse's hoofs.

Merston went out again into the blinding sunlight to greet his
host, and Sylvia turned to the thin, pinched woman beside her.

"I expect you would like to come inside and take off your hat and
wash. It is hot, isn't it? Shall we go in and get respectable?"

She spoke with that winning friendliness of hers that few could
resist. Mrs. Merston's lined face softened almost in spite of
itself. She got up. But she could not refrain from flinging
another acid remark as she did so.

"I really think if Englishmen must live in South Africa, they ought
to be content with Boer wives."

"Oh, should you like your husband to have married a Boer wife?"
said Sylvia.

Mrs. Merston smiled grimly. "You are evidently still in the fool's
paradise stage. Make the most of it! It won't last long. The men
out here have other things to think about."

"I should hope so," said Sylvia energetically. "And the women,
too, I should think. I should imagine that there is very little
time for philandering out here."

Mrs. Merston uttered a bitter laugh as she followed her in. "There
is very little time for anything, Mrs. Ranger. It is drudgery from
morning till night."

"Oh, I haven't found that yet," said Sylvia.

She had led her visitor into the guest-room which she had occupied
since her advent. It was not quite such a bare apartment as it had
been on that first night. All her personal belongings were
scattered about, and the severely masculine atmosphere had been
completely driven forth.

"I'm afraid it isn't very tidy in here," she said. "I generally
see to things later. I don't care to turn the Kaffir girl loose
among my things."

Mrs. Merston looked around her. "And where does your husband
sleep?" she said.

"Across the passage. His room is about the same size as this.
They are not very big, are they?"

"You are very lucky to have such a home," said Mrs. Merston. "Ours
is nothing but a corrugated iron shed divided into two parts."

"Really?" Sylvia opened her eyes. "That doesn't sound very nice
certainly. Haven't you got a verandah even--I beg its pardon, a
_stoep_?"

"We have nothing at all that makes for comfort," declared Mrs.
Merston, with bitter emphasis. "We live like pigs in a sty!"

"Good heavens!" said Sylvia. "I shouldn't like that."

"No, you wouldn't. It takes a little getting used to. But you'll
go through the mill presently. All we farmers' wives do. You and
Burke