Chapter IV: Part 4

Suddenly the oldest of these curly guards laid his keen head to the ground, and catching the echo of a far-off whistle, gave a look to his companions. Away they flew, raising a cloud of sand behind them, and leaving the children breathless with laughter.

The next day they made an excursion in an opposite direction, towards the rocks. All thought of danger from the free Kafirs was now set at rest.

"It was proved the thieves had come from civilized, not from savage life. More shame to them!" thought Jack. "If I had only been big enough to shoulder a rifle behind father, we should have been a match for them. Next time we'll see."

Away he walked, resolved to try his strength and make Sannie ride. By dint of persistency he carried his point, but was glad to compromise the matter and make frequent exchanges, which Genderen approved, observing, "Des is wohl" (that is well), as she felt proud of the success of their experiment, for Jack was getting well now as fast as he could.

They ate their fruit and cakes in what the Dutch children called a "kloof,"—that is, a narrow cleft in the nearest mass of rock, down which in time of rain a dashing cataract thundered, fed by a mountain stream. But the burning sunshine of that African summer had dried-up the fall to a few trickling drops.

A deep indented line of whitening sand divided the bottom of the valley. High overhead the precipitous rocks arose like the walls of a giant stronghold; and the tiny water-drops which oozed so slowly from their fractured sides fell with a musical sound on the smooth, flat stones at their feet—stones which had been polished to their present smoothness by the drip of ages. In this cool retreat, beneath the grateful shadow of the rocks, there grew a quivering tree. There was no one to tell Jack its nature or its name, but he gazed upon it in an ecstasy of delight and wonder. Lower down the bank of the dried-up stream a clump of young mimosas gave shelter to a covey of wild guinea-fowl.

As the children advanced, running and shouting to each other in their glee, the shy and timid guinea-chicks were frightened, and rising from the flat-crowned bushes, took their flight to the safer shelter of the rocks.

Off went Genderen and Zyl on the quest for eggs, creeping on their hands and knees where the tangle of underwood would have barred their progress. To such bird-nesting Jack had been a stranger; but after Genderen had shown him the first nest she had discovered, with its circle of dark pointed eggs, he comprehended their object and joined in the eager pursuit. Sannie was left to enjoy a nap in the little carriage, which they had drawn up beneath the shadow of the quivering tree.

Again and again Jack put his hand to his breast to be sure that weighty responsibility, the Bank of England note, was safe in his handkerchief. He was growing tired with the scrambling and the scratches, so he went back to the sleeping Sannie, and gathering a handful of rushes which grew upon the margin of the dried-up stream, plaited them into a small flat basket, just big enough to hold his treasure. He sewed the top together with a long and flexible rush, so that no one could catch a glimpse of even the white handkerchief, in which the letter and its important contents were wrapped up. Then he tied it round his neck once more, and satisfied at last that he had made it really safe, lay down by Sannie to rest. He had no idea that the little snoring bundle had slept with one eye open, and was very curious as to his proceedings, until she stretched out both her fat baby hands and pulled his shirt, inquiring with an infantine lisp that was almost irresistible to Jack, "Was is das?"

He took her on his knee, and with the remains of the rushes wove her a basket for her very own.

In that cool retreat the summer hours flew swiftly by, and the children never thought of returning; for Genderen had found a nest of tiny guinea-chicks, and Zyl had lined the empty luncheon-basket with soft dry grass to receive them. Genderen placed them in it with a careful hand, delighted with the prospect of carrying home so excellent a find.

As she extricated herself from the thicket, she saw a little bit of a scarlet blanket clinging to a mimosa leaf. A sudden thought struck her. She turned back, parted the branches, and looked eagerly between them. She saw a heap of gathered grass, crushed and pressed, as if it had been the sleeping-place of some wild animal. Genderen brushed her hand across her eyes, and stooping down, picked up a brass-headed pin she herself had given to the poor Black Antelope.

Here, then, was her retreat. Could she be hiding here still?

"No; she was on her way to her own country," persisted Zyl; "but they could not leave the kloof without a search."

Up and down the dried-up bed of the watercourse, on to every accessible ledge to be discovered on its rocky sides, went Zyl, prodding with a broken branch from the quivering tree into every hole and crevice, where it was possible and even where it was not possible for their hare-like friend to hide; but all in vain. The cold, hard rocks only echoed back the much loved name Zyl persisted in shouting at the very top of his voice.

"It is of no use," said Genderen sorrowfully. "When we get home, father will send the men with the dogs, and perhaps they will hurt her."

"They must bring me back with them," interposed Zyl, "to show them where she slept. Mind you don't describe it so that they can find it without me, Gen; and if they flog her, they will have to flog me first, that's all."

Having reached this decision, they ran across to Jack, who recognized the bit of scarlet blanket and the brass pin in a minute. He had felt too weak to take part in the search, but shared their grief at its failure. Zyl pointed out one source of comfort: poor Blackie would not starve with guinea-fowls' eggs to suck and the pure rock-water to drink. This was their consolation.

Zyl insisted upon Jack riding home, although Jack was sure Sannie could not walk so far; but there were the eggs to be conveyed, and Sannie might break them. Zyl was dogged, so Jack gave in and let Zyl tuck him up in his carriage. Then the Dutch boy brought an armful of grass, which he kneaded into a sort of nest on Jack's lap, and in this the eggs were piled. Genderen placed her precious basket of living chicks in his right hand, for she had a heavier task to perform in carrying Sannie.

Under such circumstances, their progress was of the slowest; and before they had progressed half a mile, they encountered Otto, who had come in search of them.

He had gone up to the house by chance, and finding Tante Milligen in a state of great anxiety because the children had not returned, he volunteered to ride round and look for them. He took up Genderen behind him and Sannie before him; but he left the boys to their own devices, knowing well that no power on earth could make Zyl quicken his pace and risk his eggs.

Sannie was delighted to find herself on the neck of Otto's horse, with his arm round her waist, holding her safe and fast. So she chattered on in her innocent way, half to herself and half to him. He was thinking more of Genderen's heavy sighs (for he knew she was dreading her mother's anger) than of Sannie's prattle, until she asked him to give her letters and paper to put in her basket like those Jack Treby kept in his. Then he lent a very earnest ear, asking her many questions.

XI.

_OTTO THE SHEPHERD._

ZYL drove home his load in safety, but he thought it prudent to stop at one of the Kafirs' huts. Here he left Genderen's chicks in charge, and sent up his glorious find of eggs to the farm-house. Then he took fast hold of Jack's hand, and led him round by the back of the farm-buildings until they reached the foot of the ladder leading to the wool-loft. Jack did not often now resist his good-natured but self-willed friend. He had taken a leaf from Genderen's tactics, so they got on together admirably. Zyl insisted upon undressing him and putting him to bed. Jack could guess the reason why. Zyl meant to take the whole of the blame and its consequences upon his own shoulders.

Jack looked round the sloping roof and white-washed wall of his loft, with a sort of home-feeling he had never experienced before at Jaarsveldt, when it suddenly struck him it was looking more untidy than usual. Yes, he was certain all the things his father had packed up so neatly under the slope of the roof had been pulled about. Who could have done it? The loft had not been cleaned, for the floor was littered all over. He was too hungry to sleep and too anxious to know what sort of reception Zyl had met with, to rest anywhere.

Then he heard a noise as of horses' feet, and jumping up in bed saw the "oom" himself, on his great black horse, with Zyl behind him, and Walt on his fastest hunter at his side, with all the dogs and four or five of the Hottentots, starting for the rocks—in search of the poor Black Antelope, he could not doubt. Jack's heart ached for her; and he lay down and covered his face, thinking what it must be to wander forlorn and homeless in these wilds.

In a little while the ugly Kafir brought him a calabash of ox-tail soup, and after that he sank into the sound sleep of healthy childhood. Nothing less than two awkward hands pulling at the collar of his shirt would have wakened him that night. But there they were. He felt the knuckles pressing on his throat, and almost thought it was a dream. He put up his own to push them away, and took hold of real hands—the rough, strong hands of a man clutching at his treasure. He was wide awake in an instant, fighting them off. Something was over his eyes. He struggled hard, and freed himself for a moment. He felt a man's hot breath upon his cheek, and screamed out with all his might as he recognized the face of the German shepherd.

Would anybody come to his help? Could he even make himself heard in the dead of night? He remembered Van Immerseel and his sons were away. Yes, their absence had given Otto his opportunity. Jack saw it all, and grew cold with fear as he felt himself powerless in Otto's grasp. Then came the thought,—

"God sees, and he is ever more ready to help than we to ask."

But thought itself soon became impossible, for Otto was cramming the corner of the pillow into his mouth to stifle his cries. Jack tried hard to throw himself on his face. Somehow he managed to get the precious letter under him, and not all Otto's blows or low-voiced menaces could make him stir from this position.

Vickel, who was roosting, as usual, at the foot of Jack's ladder, had lifted a sleepy head when Otto passed her; but as she was now familiar with every one about the farm, she let him go up the ladder un-molested.

Jack's scream aroused her vigilance, and two bright eyes were watching every movement; for Vickel was quite tall enough, when she drew herself to her full height, to peep in at the door of the loft, which Otto had left wide open to gain light enough for his search. She could not see Jack, who had rolled himself in the bed-clothes, until Otto lifted him by main force from the pillow to which he still clung. Then Vickel sprang upon the ladder with a cry of mingled love and rage, and struck the intruder so fierce a blow with her closed beak that it sent him headlong on the floor. Before he had time to recover his feet she seized him by the leg with beak and claw, and dragged him out of the loft.

"Call her off! Call her off! Or she'll kill me," roared Otto as she once more lifted her formidable talon, ready to gore his flesh from the bones.

When Jack, as white as ashes, and with scarcely voice enough to make himself heard, called, "Vic, Vic, Vic!" just as he had called her at feeding-time all her life. He snatched up some of the peas which were lying by his pop-gun and flung them towards her. With the beautiful docility of an ostrich, she turned and dropped her foe. The angry eyes grew eloquent with love, and the beak that was dealing death to Otto was stooped obediently to peck the peas in Jack's trembling hand. He leaned against her faithful breast, for the loft swam round, and he thought he must have fallen. But with the comprehension love alone can lend, Vickel spread her feathery shield above his head, and drawing him to her, brooded over him as a hen broods over her chicks.

Jack peeped between the soft gray plumes of her sheltering wings, for he heard Otto groan, and now he saw him, a dark heap at the foot of the ladder. He had been stunned by his fall; but he soon began to move and mutter threats of vengeance on Jack and his ostrich.

"It was your own fault, Mr. Otto," said Jack firmly. "What did you come here for to pull me out of bed in the middle of the night? Vickel would have killed you if I had not stopped her. You know that as well as I do."

The German got up stiffly. "You made me cross," he grumbled. "You snored like a pig, and you would not answer me. I came to fetch that bank-note. It is not safe for a child like you to carry so much money about with you. Come, hand it down, or you'll be robbed and murdered some of these days with all those coloured fellows about. If I have given you a fright, it was to show you your danger."

"Oh indeed, Mr. Otto," retorted Jack with a laugh. "I have no need to be afraid of anybody. You see what good care my ostrich takes of me. You had better talk about this to my father. I daresay he will be home in the morning."

Jack's words were brave and bold, for he looked upon Otto as a beaten enemy. The German said no more, for Vickel made an angry dart at his uncovered head, and in his terror at the thought of a second attack, he turned and fled away as fast as his hurt leg would permit.

Jack lay cuddled by his darling Vic until the strange coldness had passed over, and his manful little heart had ceased to beat so wildly. The glorious brightness of the moonlight had given place to a chill creeping mist. It was the dreariest hour of all the night, but it was bringing back the day. After a while the mist began to lift, and the morning sun arose in all its splendour. Then Jack knelt down by Vickel's side, and clasping his hands together, poured out the fulness of his heart in prayer. The joy of his thanksgiving for his hair's-breadth escape, and the earnest cry for help and guidance, scarcely found utterance in words, for blinding, choking tears came at last to his relief.

The broken words, the gasping sobs, touched the heart of the Kafir groom, who had risen at daybreak expecting his master's return. As soon as the humming, droning song of the black dairymaid announced her presence among the milk-pails, he went across and told her "that poor lamb without a mother" was very sore at heart—wailing over the fate of the Black Antelope, he doubted not, for the white lamb from the fold was much loved by the dark hind from the upper veldt, as they both knew.

Then the dairymaid came and listened, and picked up a man's hat at the foot of the ladder. Gorya the groom took it and hid it in the back of his stable with a grin. He knew the owner of the hat at a glance, and muttered to himself, "What's he been up to here?"

Much pleased with Jack's sympathy for their fellow-countrywoman (for they both knew well how earnestly he had pleaded for her on the night of her offence), the two Kafirs would have gone to him at once but for Vickel's menacing glances, for she had settled herself in the doorway, and refused to stir for any one.

When Jack found the farm-servants were about, his spirits returned, and he began to think over his night's adventure. How was he to explain what had happened to the Immerseels? In truth, he dare not say a single word to any one of them, for he could not make them understand, and then they would send for Otto to tell them what he was saying.

"Yes," thought Jack, "Mr. Otto sees this just as clearly as I do, and so he thinks he can do as he likes, as much wrong as he likes, and carry all before him with a high hand; but he cannot deceive me. He is a bad man. He came to steal this bank-note; I'm sure he did."

Jack's reflections were cut short by the sound of horses' feet, and looking out of the door of his loft, he saw the "oom" ride in, with Zyl behind him. He watched the party dismount, but the Black Antelope was not with them. To make quite sure that he was not mistaken, Jack ran down his ladder and seized his friend by both hands, looking earnestly in his face. Zyl knew well enough what he wanted to ask, and replied to him and to Genderen, who was signalling the same inquiry from the window of her slaap-kamé, with a shake of his head, repeating the pathetic Dutch word "verloren" (lost).

Genderen burst into tears. She did not appear at the early breakfast prepared for the search-party.

Jack went indoors with his friend, and breakfasted on mutton-chops, listening attentively to the conversation, and gathering its sense more from tone and gesture than from actual words.

Yes, the search had been fruitless. Zyl was sent off to bed, grumbling and weary. Feeling himself safe indoors, with the "oom" nodding in his huge arm-chair just opposite, Jack coiled himself up on Sannie's sheep-skin, and was soon asleep. He was wakened by the sound of Tante Milligen's voice, and a very solemn voice it was. He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, with all her maids gathered round her, listening open-mouthed whilst she narrated something which had happened to herself in the night.

Jack caught the words "Das ein nacht" (this very night), and was up in a moment. Had Tante Milligen sent Mr. Otto after all? Jack had become very skilful at pantomime by this time, so he ran up to her and asked, by looking very earnestly in her face and taking hold of her hand, if she wanted him? Tante Milligen shook her head.

"Das ein nacht," repeated Jack.

She held up her hands and turned to her eager, interested auditors, who echoed back their mistress's exclamation, each in her own peculiar fashion.

The truth was Tante Milligen had heard a noise in the night—a noise like thunder, she averred. It was just as if a heavy weight had been thrown down suddenly over her head. Like most of the females among the Dutch Boers, Tante Milligen, although a brave woman, was fearfully superstitious. A noise outside the house would not have frightened her half so much, even if it had proved to be another Kafir scare. But this mysterious noise inside the house, what could it mean?

When Jack came up to her with the traces of the night's excitement still visible in his pale cheeks and circled eyes, she only thought he had heard it too, and of course any child must be frightened. She was pleased that it confirmed her own experience, for one of those shameless Hottentots had positively suggested that she must have been dreaming.

"Slaap wohl?" she asked Jack, who shook his head most decidedly. Having had that question put to him every morning during his illness, he knew what it meant, and did his best to make her understand he had not slept at all.

Overcome with compassion, Tante Milligen sat down on the nearest chair, and took the little English boy on her lap, giving him a motherly hug and calling her maids one by one to notice the blackness of the circles under his eyes. This was indeed treating him like a baby; but Jack was not so aggravated by it as he had been when Walt laid him down on Sannie's sheep-skin, because it convinced him Tante Milligen would have interfered if she had had the least idea that Otto had been trying to frighten him.

Then Genderen came to fetch him. Tante Milligen said he would be better out of doors; besides she wished to keep the house quiet until her sons should awaken. Jack took Sannie's hand and wandered about with her, keeping very near the farm-gate, for fear of meeting Otto. Genderen was seated on the steop, shelling pepper, ready for one of the maids to pound. Jack would willingly have helped her, but he was looking for Vickel.

His giant fairy was far too stately a creature to be overlooked, yet she seemed to have vanished. He thought of the day when he lost her before; but Genderen's fluffy charges were all safe with their respective mothers. Everything was as usual, only his own ostrich was nowhere to be seen. Could anybody have hurt his Vickel? Jack's blood was boiling at the thought. He rushed back to Genderen, and showing her a dirty feather his bird had dropped, repeated her own mournful word, "verloren" (lost).

But Genderen smiled reassuringly, and pointed in the direction of their own ostrich camp.

At that moment the shepherd came out of the granary, and apparently thinking the farm-yard was deserted, began to pull about the loose straw at the bottom of the stack where Jack had taken his siesta on that unlucky day when he fell ill with the fever. The children saw him through the open gate, and the Kafir groom watched him behind the stable door. His movements were awkward, for he was stiff and sore, and his hat was pulled over his eyes—his Sunday hat!

The girls began to laugh at the incongruity of his appearance. At the sound of their merriment, Otto left his search, and limping up to them, turned to Jack with a scowl, saying,—"The 'oom' has ordered that vicious bird of yours to be shut up as long as it is here. The cow-keeper has been telling him how it flew at Sannie."

"Zyl can tell him more about that than the cow-keeper, and perhaps I could tell him more about last night than you did, Mr. Otto," retorted Jack.

"See if I don't take your English impudence out of you some of these days," growled Otto.

Jack's blood was up, and his prudence was nowhere, so he answered hotly, "Then you will just rouse the British bull-dog. Don't you know he would die rather than let you or any man touch a rag that was in his care."

"Oh, oh!" sneered the German. "And where is the brute to be found?"

"Here," returned Jack proudly, laying his hand on his own heart. "I don't imagine English boys were made of poorer stuff than a dog in his kennel; do you?"

XII.

_WRITING TO GRANDFATHER._

IN another minute Jack's arm was round Genderen's neck, coaxing and entreating for something, she could not tell what. He took up one of the peppersticks and pretended to write on her pinafore.

"When would the schoolmaster come again?" was that it? Genderen counted the number of days upon her fingers. Ten more, and he would be due. But Jack persistently shook his head and wrote on. Thinking he wanted to borrow a slate and pencil, she led him into the sit-kamé and touched the door of the cupboard where their books were kept. This was right.

Jack murmured a grateful "Jah."

Genderen unlocked the door, and waited for him to point to what he wanted.

Jack's eye roved over the motley contents for a moment, and then his finger touched the inkstand.

Genderen gave a smile of intelligence, and putting her own pen in his other hand let him carry them off in triumph.

He knew that Otto was gone by this time, and that Zyl was still asleep, so he slipped unperceived into the garden and made a writing-desk of his friend's three-cornered seat. The hedge round Zyl's garden had grown luxuriantly, thanks to the diligent use of his watering-pot, so that no one could see what Jack was doing behind it.

He sat down on the grass and took out his treasure. It was all right, but the edges were wearing away. He read the lady's note again. It only covered one page of the sheet of paper. Jack's eyes grew bright: with three pages of blank paper he could write a letter to his grandfather, and send the note and its contents to him.

"He can find the lady. They are both living at Nottingham. Tomorrow is the day for the post-cart to pass," thought Jack, feeling his spirits rise like a bird at having found such a good way out of his difficulty.

Jack had never written a letter by himself before. He had often put a little note to his grandfather into his father's letters. But then there was always his father to tell him if it were all right. Now he must do it all; for if he wore the bank-note round his neck another week, it would drop to pieces, and if he tried to hide it anywhere else Otto would get it. So Jack wrote on as well as he could:—

"DEAR GRANDFATHER,—Some thieves burned down our house, and father burned his coat getting me out of the fire, so he had to buy one of a stranger—a young Englishman, who said he had got a coat he did not want. It was too big for him. It had belonged to a friend of his, and it was put with his luggage by mistake, for he left England in a great hurry. His friend said it was not worth while to send it back. Father and I went to the nearest farm, and he was to send the coat there. Father was going away with the waggon, but as I was ill, he left me behind.

"The coat came too late for him to wear it on the journey, so I was taking care of it for him. And one day when I was ill in bed my ostrich tore it, only because it was in the way, and she wanted to come to me. Then I found there was a letter between the lining and the cloth, with a bank-note in it. I thought at first I had better keep it until father came back; but I can't. The people here are very kind to me; but they speak Dutch, so I cannot tell them anything.

"There is only one man who can speak English, and he is a bad man, and tried last night to steal the bank-note. I do not know what he would have done to me if my ostrich had not come to my help and knocked him down. She is the dearest, loveliest bird in all the world. I can't tell you how I love her. I have just found out this horrid man has got my ostrich shut up. I know what that means. He thinks he shall get the bank-note away from me when I have no big bird to fight for me. But he is making a mistake, for I am going to send it to you by the post.

"And please, grandfather dear, will you give back to the lady it belongs to, if she is still at Nottingham; and if she is not there now, you will be more likely to find her than father; and anyhow it will be safe. I will put all in this letter; the card that was tied to the coat too, for I am afraid I should not write the names plain. I have no more paper, so good-bye, dear grandfather.

"Your affectionate grandson,

"JOHN TREBY."

Jack dried his letter in the sun, and then folded the bank-note in it once again, and slipped it into the ragged envelope. He looked well at the card, thinking that if he were the schoolmaster, he should not like to have such a difficult name to spell every time he had to write a letter. Then he packed both card and letter in a sheet of his "Illustrated London News," and tied it up with the precious piece of string he had found in his pocket after the fire.

Oh, was not it a wonderful thing that he should actually have money enough to pay the postage. It was good of Zyl's uncle to give him that sixpence. Oh, how true it is that with the trial God sends the way of escape, that we may be able to bear it. Jack thought of the night when his father had explained that to him—a Sunday night years ago. He had listened and remembered then; he was living by it now.

Next the thought of what Otto might do to him in his exasperation, when he found himself baffled, came over Jack like a cold shadow; but he threw it off, exclaiming, "I comforted father when I reminded him of Christ's own words,—

"'Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.'

"And ought not they to comfort me? I won't be made afraid." He put back his precious letter into its case of rushes, and marched into the house with Genderen's pen and ink.

Zyl was just out of bed, and laughing heartily at the idea of beginning his day with dinner; but for all that there was a cloud on his brow, for like Genderen and Sannie, he was secretly fretting for his Kafir nurse, and sullenly resenting his father's harshness to her. So Jack's excitement passed unnoticed.

Van Immerseel himself was sorry for them all; and hoping to divert his children's thoughts from the lost Intombi (as a Kafir girl is usually called), he told them he was going down to the ostrich camp to collect the eggs, and that they should go too. Zyl should drive them in the cart.

The girls ran off for their sun-kappjes, whilst the boys packed the egg-baskets in the back of the cart. Jack was delighted, for he expected to find his Vickel there. He had often seen the Boer's men loading this cart with barley quite early in the morning, and he guessed very shrewdly that it was to feed the ostriches.

Jack's great question now was how to get his letter to the post-cart. And in this discovery, he found a key to unlock his difficulty. Van Immerseel was mounted on his favourite cob. Like most African farmers, he preferred riding to walking when he visited his ostriches, because the presence of a horse has a very quieting effect upon these feathered giants. He rode slowly, whistling a favourite tune, whilst the cart rumbled over the stones at a little distance.

When they reached the camp, Van Immerseel left the girls outside, but he took Jack upon his horse and showed him Vickel, very happy and content in the midst of her feathered kin. Zyl marched boldly after them with a basket on his head, until they came to the nests. Here the Van dismounted, and was soon in high good humour with the number of beautiful eggs he was able to collect. Jack was very quiet and very attentive, watching eagerly everything that went on around, not a little pleased that Van Immerseel trusted him to hold the bridle of his horse whilst he was busy after the eggs.

When they returned, Van Immerseel let both the boys ride at once, whilst he led the cart himself very carefully. Jack was happy, for he had worked out his plan, and not one of his Dutch friends imagined for a moment that his joyous laugh, as he rode behind his friend, was the effervescence of such a desperate resolution.

When they reached home, Jack employed the rest of the evening in making a hood for Vickel out of his pocket-handkerchief—something after the fashion of a carriage-hood, so that it might let up and down. He had saved a handful of the strongest rushes they had found in the ravine. Genderen supplied him with a needle and thread. He folded his handkerchief cornerwise, and made runners for the rushes across it at even distances. It was easy to draw it into shape and sew the rushes firmly together at the ends. He had torn off the hems of the handkerchief to serve for strings, and when these were sewn on his work was completed.

When one of the Hottentot maids fetched him indoors to supper, he took the opportunity to entreat Tante Milligen to let him sleep indoors. She was quite prepared for this, and understood him easily. So she put him in bed with Zyl. And when Walt joined them, an hour or two later, a nice time they had of it. With fever and fretting Jack was as thin as a little skeleton—a perfect shrimp in Walt's eyes, who insisted upon putting Jack between them, for fear he should kick him out of bed in his sleep without knowing it. When sleep visited his two Dutch friends it was banished from Jack's eyelids; for snoring followed in its train, and every time the two young giants stretched themselves or rolled over, he thought he should be crushed. So he passed the greater part of the night sitting cross-legged on his pillow.

With daybreak Walt arose, and Jack followed his example, for he was gasping like a little fish for air; but Zyl, who had not yet recovered his lost rest, was sleeping heavily. Walt perceived poor Jack's condition, and did not wonder at his determination to escape to the fresh, cool morning air outside; so he let the English boy accompany him to the garden, where Walt was soon too hard at work to take much heed of his restless companion.

As soon as the farm-yard gate was open Jack went in, and seating himself at the door of the granary, waited for the arrival of the ostrich-cart. When he heard the droning hum of the dairymaid's song, he ventured to her door and begged a cup of milk. The balmy air of the African dawn was breathing new life into every vein. It seemed an easy thing to him then to scamper over the veldt on Vickel and meet the post-cart; yes, and be back again almost before anybody could miss him.

The cart was coming for the barley. Jack was at his post in a moment. The "oom" himself had taken him to see his bird the night before, so the men about the yard, who had found Vickel guarding the door of the loft morning after morning, thought it quite natural Jack should want to go and feed her.

The drive through the morning air raised Jack's spirits, and he joined merrily in the Kafir's song, catching the lilt and humming the tune when the queer-sounding words escaped him.

A deafening scream from the ostrich camp greeted their arrival. The hungry birds were crowding round the gate, crying their loudest for breakfast. A hundred open beaks and as many impatient claws scratching up the sand looked somewhat formidable. Jack filled the crown of his hat with barley, and as soon as the gate was unlocked, he waved it high in the air, flinging the grains of corn far and wide. The feathered phalanx was dispersed in a moment. The tall, towering necks were bent to the ground with a meek gobble, gobble.

"They are nothing but big poultry after all," laughed Jack.

The Kafir laughed too, and invited Jack to enter; but he preferred remaining by the gate, whilst the Kafir went in with his sack of barley on his shoulders.

While the man was thus engaged, Jack called, "Vic! Vic!" but at first there was no answer. Jack raised his voice, and looked around. He soon found her, for the other birds would not suffer the stranger to eat with them at present; so Vickel was hovering round and round the busy group, fain to content herself with a solitary grain or two snatched desperately between her companions' feet. At the sound of Jack's call she ran towards him with a crow of delight.

He had kept some barley for her in the crown of his hat. A few grains flung towards her again and again soon separated her from the other ostriches. Jack softly opened the gate, and by showing her the barley still left in his hat, he tempted her to follow him out. He shut the gate behind them, emptied the remainder of the barley on the ground, and whilst Vickel devoured it eagerly, he sprang upon her back.

Away on his winged steed, away like the wind, across that sea of glowing sand they flitted like a light-gray cloud, circling round and round in their rapid flight. Never before had Vickel tasted the full delight of perfect liberty on her native veldt. She arched her graceful neck and shook out her curling plumes to the morning breeze in a whirl of mad delight, as if she were a willing participant in her master's daring scheme.

Pursuit was impossible; nothing could overtake them now. Vickel scarcely touched the ground as she skimmed across the mighty plain, balancing herself with her outspread wings, with an easy, graceful movement that was neither running nor flying, but swifter than the swiftest racer that ever won the Derby. The speed at which they travelled almost took away Jack's breath.

He was delighted with the success of his manœuvre. The ease with which he had been able to manage the starting encouraged him mightily. Through the clear African atmosphere Jack could see for miles. He had so often watched for the post-cart by his father's side, and had been the first to perceive the little cloud of dust darkening the horizon line, he could not miss it now.

XIII.

_HOW THE LETTER WAS POSTED._

JACK did not miss it. After an hour or more of anxious watching, the rolling cloud of dust appeared, but it was going from him. In an agony of desperation, he put his hand to his head to try to think. Yes, there was the post-cart almost out of sight, and altogether out of hearing,—nothing but a moving speck of cloud. No one but himself, thought Jack, would have been sure that it was the post-cart. No power on earth could make Vickel run in a straight line. He saw it now, as she circled round and round, he had lost his way.

His heart beat wildly, his breath was almost gone with the terrific speed, when a crystal gleam in the glowing sand attracted Vickel. Easy as it is for an ostrich to go without water in her native deserts, she loves it all the same; and now of her own accord, Vickel stopped to drink. Jack got down and drank also: the water was warm with the growing sunshine. Then he sprang upon her shoulder once again, and she waded through the little stream with infinite satisfaction.

When she stepped out again on the opposite bank, she shook the water from her wings, and covered Jack with a light and glistening shower, which both steed and rider felt infinitely refreshing.

Jack took the hood he had made out of his pocket and tied it on his ostrich. It answered well; he could let it down over her eyes and stop her when he liked. He gave up all thought of trying to make her run after the post-cart. But he had watched the way it was going, and now he started his ostrich in another direction, hoping as she circled round, he should fall in with it further on.

Away went Vickel with renewed speed, taking a wider sweep as she felt her capabilities expand with this unwonted exercise. The pace at which they were going was frightful. Mr. Wilton and his powerful grays crept like snails in comparison.

Jack was dizzy and sick, when suddenly he found himself, not behind the post-cart, but before it. Vickel was turning from the storm of dust it raised, when Jack let the hood drop over her eyes. She stopped at once, and Jack hung round her neck, more dead than alive. But he knew the critical moment had come; yet it was a mercy he had a breathing-space, or he might have fainted quite away. Vic was frightened at finding herself in the dark, so she lay down and ran her head in the sand, trying to rub her hood off. Jack stretched himself on the ground beside her and slowly rallied.

Great was the postman's astonishment when he perceived the little fellow, covered with dust and white with fatigue, sitting by the wayside waiting.

Jack got up as the tramp of the horses drew nearer and nearer. He waved his hat in the air and held aloft his precious letter. The postman drew up. Jack put the letter and the sixpence into his hand; but his voice was weak and faint, as he asked nervously, "Please, sir, is that enough for the postage?"

The postman took the letter from him and read the familiar address. Every time he had crossed that sandy waste for years, he had been stopped to take a letter for Mr. Treby, Nottingham, England. He looked Jack all over, as he said kindly, "You have had a long and dusty walk to overtake me here. It has been too much for you, my little man. Your letter shall go all right. Where is your father?"

"He is gone on a long journey, sir," answered Jack dolefully.

"Then keep your sixpence; I will give you the stamp. But do not try to walk back in the heat, or you will drop by the way. Lie down under one of the bushes and rest. Have you anything with you to eat?"

Jack shook his head. "I'm not hungry, sir."

"Hungry! No," repeated the postman; "you are past that. Why did not you send that letter by your father's man—the old fellow was waiting by the kopjee for the parcel I promised to bring your father—eh?"

"Please, sir, I came from Jaarsveldt," put in Jack.

"Jaarsveldt!" exclaimed Wilton in astonishment. "That is miles and miles away. You must not think of trying to go back there alone; you are a great deal nearer your old home. Keep to my tracks until you come to the kopjee, and then I think you will be able to find your way, for I have often seen you there by your father's side watching for my coming. Now mind what I say, and eat this," the postman continued, taking out his pocket-flask and pouring some of its contents over a piece of captain's biscuit.

Jack found it wonderfully reviving. One of the passengers who had been listening to the conversation threw him a bit of bultong—that is, meat cut in strips and dried in the wind; and a hand was stretched out from the inside of the cart with a nice slice of watermelon. Jack lifted his big hat and bowed all round.

Wilton reiterated his charges.

"Please, sir," said Jack earnestly, "I am not alone; I have got my ostrich," pointing to the hole where Vic still lay, with her head well buried in the sand, in a paroxysm of fear on account of the horses.

Jack wondered why the men all laughed. He promised faithfully to do as he was told; and away drove the post-cart, leaving him in that vast solitude once more. He watched "Her Majesty's mail" crossing the wild desert plain until it vanished to a dusky speck.

The rolling sand on every side surrounded him like an earthy sea, for it was driven in wave-like heaps by a sudden gust. An ice-cold wind was driving before it a cloud so dense and black Jack trembled, for he knew that thunder was lurking in its inky folds. He ran to Vickel, who was rallying her spirits, after the apparition of those prancing horses, by browsing among the rosemary bushes. She too had felt the change. A little black and white bird flew fast from ant-hill to ant-hill, seeking shelter from the coming storm.

Vickel began scratching a hole in the billowy sand with unusual vehemence, as a troop of eland deer rushed past within a dozen yards of the rosemary bush she had been munching. Jack crept in terror to her side, as the "velderbeeste" dashed madly on, and the first fierce lightning flash parted the blackening gloom.

Jack gave one cry—he could hardly help it—as the thunder crashed and rolled above his head. But his faithful Vic's broad wing was spread above two heads instead of one, as the bird and the boy huddled together in the hole she had been scooping.

It was an awful moment. Down came the heavy drops of thunder-rain. The tall grass waved and shivered. Aroused by Jack's wild cry, a quaint black figure crept cautiously out of a deserted ant-bear's hole, with which the ground was honey-combed, and looked around. Another and another jagged flash compelled her to fling herself on the ground to escape its fury.

Swiftly as the storm had arisen, so swiftly did it pass. Beyond the angry clouds a bright-hued rainbow spanned the wide reach of sky and kissed the crimsoned sand, that seemed to glow with a deeper red when the brightness of the golden sunshine was withdrawn.

To Jack's surprise Vickel began to hiss. He parted her feathers with his fingers and looked cautiously around.

The storm was dying, but every leaf was glittering with its sparkling diamond drop. The thirsty earth was already rejoicing; the very flowers seemed whispering, "Rain, more rain," as they lifted their drooping heads in grateful gladness.

The black had raised herself on one elbow, and was gazing earnestly at Vickel's damaged plumage. Those singed wings could not easily be mistaken. Like the hum of the wandering bee her song arose:—

"Lamb without a mother, where, oh, where?
Bird without a heart,
To leave the fair 'umfana' and depart;
Or was the hard, hard casa hard to thee?
And did he force a faithful bird to flee?"

Jack sprang to his feet and rushed towards the singer. The voice was the voice of the poor Black Antelope. He could have recognized that song had they met at the ends of the earth.

"Umfana," repeated Jack, catching the sound of the one Kafir word with which she had made him familiar. "Why, that was what she always called me, and Zyl was her 'umdanda,' now I recollect."

To make assurance doubly sure, Jack shouted, "Here's your old umfana."

"Ou ka! (Oh no)," cried the Black Antelope, springing to her feet, for she began to think the bird was talking; she could see no umfana (child) or umdanda (boy) anywhere.

Her frantic gesticulations, her wild cries, set Jack off laughing. She began to tear her hair, declaring it was a spook (a bogle) that was mocking her.

Up rose Vickel with a screaming hiss, leaving Jack tumbling in the sand. The next minute he found himself half hugged to death in the fervid embraces of the Kafir nurse.

"You did not expect to meet a six-foot hen with a two-handed chick, now did you?" asked Jack, kissing her fondly, as he felt her bony arm.

How sorry Jack was he had eaten all the food Mr. Wilton and his passengers had given him, for he was certain the poor girl was really starving. Like Vickel, she had been eating rosemary leaves. But her delight at finding Jack made her forget her own sufferings.

Yet, yet, she asked, why was her pet-lamb straying on the veldt? It was well they had met, for the homeless dog, as she called herself, could guard the lost lamb and save him from destruction. She drew him to a safer spot, and sitting down beside him, watched the parting clouds, for the lightning had not altogether ceased, and the thunder still rumbled behind the low sand-hills. Overhead the sky was clearing, and the arching rainbow shone with brightened hues.

Jack leaned against his Kafir friend, while Vickel strutted about, drying her feathers in the transient gleams of the returning sun. The air grew fresh and reviving. The sleep the postman had so earnestly recommended to Jack fell upon him unawares.

The Black Antelope had noticed at the first glance that her lamb had been shorn of his wavy curls, and now she perceived the traces of recent illness in his pale lips and hollow eyes. So she waited patiently beside him, flapping away the stinging flies with a long tuft of grass, that his sleep might be unbroken; and so the weary hours passed by.

When Jack at length awakened, the darkness of night had gathered around them. Vickel was roosting in the sand at their feet; but the glorious stars of the southern hemisphere were shining forth in all their splendour.

"There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard," thought Jack as he looked into the Kafir's eyes and then pointed upwards to their glittering light, and began to sing,—

"Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!"

Oh, how she listened. The solemn stillness of the night oppressed them both. Jack was almost afraid to think, and altogether too proud to cry; yet in spite of himself a something rising in his throat choked his voice.

"Have I done wrong to venture here alone?" he asked. "I almost wish—but no—" He checked himself. "I won't mind, for I've done it. The letter is safe on its way to grandfather. Oh, if I could only have asked father what I had better do."

Then the sweet words of his hymn came back to him; and kneeling down amid the eerie, lonesome waste, he took the Black Antelope's hand in his, and coaxed her to kneel beside him as he repeated aloud,—

"Our Father."

Yes, her Father as well as his, if she but knew it. Yet his prayer was for them both, as she dimly felt.

Jack had poured forth all his troubles, and his heart was lightened. They could do nothing but keep just where they were until daylight. "And then," thought Jack, "I shall see the tracks of the post-cart, and I'll take the poor Black Antelope home to Tottie; for all her trouble came through her kindness to me. It is hard when trouble comes through trying to do right."

Then sleep came slowly back again, and Jack was dreaming of the home he could not find.

At the peep of dawn he rose and began searching diligently for the track of the post-cart. Alas, alas! He could not find it. How was it? Had they wandered unconsciously from the spot? Or had the storm obliterated the deep wheel-ruts? He could not tell.

Jack tried to explain to his companion what it was that he was searching for, by drawing lines with his finger in the sand.

Both were faint for want of breakfast, and soon grew tired. The eagerness with which Jack had started on his fruitless search had dwindled to a lagging walk; but not one vestige of a cart-track could be discovered.

Then he sprang upon Vickel, who had made her breakfast on the scrubby grass as she loitered after them. Jack arranged her hood and bridle, and then invited the Black Antelope to mount beside him. Vickel was now so strong she could have carried a man on each shoulder with ease. She thought nothing of her added burden, and ran off as gaily as on the preceding day. She, at least, was in her native element, and every now and then turned a loving look to her master's face as she took a wider sweep, scouring the mighty plain in every direction.