alk. The tender feet are swollen and bleeding to such an extent that
he finds it impossible to remove his heavy boots. Halting, stumbling,
he continues on his way.

By good fortune he meets with another Kaffir guide, who leads him to a
small Kaffir hut and revives him with a draught of Kaffir beer. A few
moments' rest, and they are on the way again.

The day was far spent when they reached a Kaffir kraal, and here Mr.
Celliers sank down in agony of mind and body, too great for words.
More Kaffir beer was respectfully tendered to him and he drank it
gratefully, meanwhile watching with dull interest the Kaffir babies,
jet black and stark naked, except for a small fringe of blue beads
about the loins, as they crept around him, like so many playful
kittens.

He was not long allowed to rest, the good guide urging him to make a
final effort, and encouraging him with the assurance that he would
find a farm not far distant, the home of Mr. Piet Roos, of Krokodil
Poort.

This goal was reached that night, and a cordial welcome given to the
poor exhausted traveller, although he was warned that he could by no
means consider himself safe on the farm, as the British passed it
nearly every day. Nigh three weeks he spent there, taking refuge under
the trees of an adjacent hill by day and sleeping under the hospitable
roof by night. As time went on and the visits of the Khakis became
rarer, he became more at ease, and often worked with the farmer and
the women in the fields, helping them to dig sweet-potatoes, and
assisting his host in the work of sorting, drying, and rolling up the
leaves of the tobacco-plant. He also became an expert in the art of
making candles, and took active part in the other small industries
carried on in that frugal and industrious household, and the evenings
were spent in poring over maps, geographical and astronomical, which
his host happened to possess. Many were the questions put to him, and
long the discussions about worlds and suns and planets, while the busy
fingers plied and rolled tobacco leaves, but these discussions
generally ended in a sigh, a shake of the head, and an unbelieving,
"there _must_ be something solid _under_ this earth," from the
sceptical host.

The time was now approaching for the fulfilment of his heart's
ambition, but there is still one small incident to relate before we
leave our hero. One day, while he was still on the farm, he was passed
by a Kaffir, whom he questioned as