Part 5

But Mr. Treby still repeated, "I can only try. Hard work won't frighten me."

It was the look on Jack's face that was frightening him. He saw the feverish flush and the glittering eyes, and felt him shiver as the child crept closer and closer to his side.

"What is the matter, my boy?" he whispered.

But Jack did not reply. The group of rough, bearded men hastily snatching a supper seemed to him no better than the unreal phantoms of a troubled dream. Tante Milligen's broad, quaint figure, with her bare arms and borderless cap, seemed everywhere. The talk of dangers and daring thrilled through his over-excited brain; and then, worse than all, the great trap-door in the ceiling over his head appeared to open and shut of itself. The plum-stones which studded the floor seemed to dance before his eyes, until he hardly knew where he was. But his father's arm was around him, and to that he clung desperately.

When he came to himself, his father was pouring something down his throat from a cow's horn; Tante held a candle in her hand, and was saying something in Dutch. Jack caught the oft-repeated word "slaap-kamé" (sleep-chamber). At last she opened the door into one of the side rooms, which Jack could distinguish the curtains of a huge four-post bed. The room felt hot and stifling as his father carried him in and laid him down upon the softest pillow Jack had ever known. Tante Milligen stuck the candle she carried somewhere in the wall.

"There is no sleep for me to-night," said Jack's father. "I do not expect any disturbance; but come what may, I can keep watch within doors."

"And I shall share your vigil," interposed the schoolmaster; "so your little boy can occupy this room (where I was to have slept) undisturbed. Don't say no, for a dash of adventure has all imaginable charms for me."

According to Dutch fashion, every breath of air was carefully excluded from the room, so Mr. Treby set the door ajar, and the light from the lamp on the supper-table streamed across the floor.

An old Hottentot woman, with her shrivelled, yellow hand, brought a cool leaf to lay on Jack's forehead, and muttered something over him like a charm.

Tante Milligen herself fetched a pitcher of herbal tea, and then, with many maternal shakings of her head and sundry commiserative sounds, departed to her own slaap-kamé on the other side of the great room, into which all the doors of the house seemed to open, for the Boer's house was but one story high. There were lofts in the roof, where stores were kept, but these were reached by a wooden ladder outside the house, or through the trap-door which had had so large a share in Jack's delirious fancies.

He could have slept now, poor boy, but for the snoring duet that was kept up by the little sisters on the other side of the wall.

The Kafir servants, who had been playing scout all day by turns, came in to report that all was quiet. Walt decided to go with Otto to his hut by the sheep-kraals, as on the preceding night. Van Immerseel was persuaded to lie down on his bed; but he would not undress so that he could be roused at a moment's notice.

Walt looked in at Mr. Treby before he departed. They showed each other their loaded rifles, and nodded significantly, as if to say, "We are ready." Otto, who had followed, stooped down and picked up something from the floor.

"My knife!" cried Jack, starting upright.

"All right," said his father, laying him gently upon the pillows again.

The German backed into the outer room.

Thinking the entrance of the young men disturbed his Jack, Mr. Treby followed his example, and taking Walt by the arm, went out also.

Swarms of those hard-winged, spotted flies danced round and round the candle, until they stuck fast in the burning tallow. A menacing mosquito buzzed in the curtains of the bed, and banished Jack's last chance of sleep.

At last the house grew still. Mr. Treby set the door of Jack's room wide open, so that he might feel the refreshing night-breeze from the open windows of the sit-kamé.

Believing that his child was dozing, he sat down by the door, with his face buried in his hands.

Algarkirke waited impatiently for his reverie to end. At last he said, "We are countrymen, and in a distant land like this that means friends, and almost brothers, does it not?"

"Of course, of course," returned Mr. Treby absently.

"Then whatever you may have heard about me from your Nottingham friends, you will not repeat it here."

"I!" returned Jack's father, rousing. "I know nothing about you, an utter stranger. I can have nothing to tell. It is years since I left Nottingham."

"It may be useless to ask you to believe me, when I say it was nothing but my own abominable carelessness made me the victim of circumstances," he went on bitterly. "And those who called themselves my friends chose rather to expatriate me than investigate."

"Young man," interrupted Jack's father, "I ask you for no confession; but if you wish to confide in me, every word you utter will be safe. But I must remind you beforehand that a man driven to asking help of his neighbours is not one to look to, to give it."

"You think me a flat," muttered Algarkirke.

"I think you a little too verdant," returned the other. "Whatever your bygones may have been, you have a chance of beginning a new life out here. Do not let your own self-consciousness spoil it. Bury the past, or retrieve it. Remember:

"'Men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.'"

"Could I dig diamonds with you at Kimberley?" was the eager answer to these words of fatherly advice.

"Did you ever use spade or pick?" asked Mr. Treby in his turn.

But Algarkirke shook his head.

"That answers your own question," returned his companion. "Stick to what you can do. You've no father, my lad, or you would not have been pitchforked into these wilds and left to sink or swim. All you brought with you is lost and gone? So I expected. I only wish I could help you."

"Your little boy told me you wanted to buy a coat. I've one to spare," said Algarkirke in a jerky tone, as if the words were forced out one by one. "I left England for Amsterdam—I had a merchant friend who traded with that city—but I was soon shipped off to Africa with a letter of recommendation to a Dutch clergyman at Pretoria. I lived on my money as long as it lasted. I was in the throes of despair when the grand church-going week came round. I shall never forget my first sight of the Boers bringing up their families from long distances in the country to join in the nachtmaal * service at their church.

"A bright idea occurred to my clerical friend. He found out that a schoolmaster was wanting in this district, and recommended me to the post. It was a civil way of freeing himself from a burden. I journeyed back in one of the Boer's wagons, and began the hopeless task of teaching the young idea how to shoot in broken Dutch. It is irksome drudgery; for those Dutch boys are worse than the Irishman's pig; they will neither be led nor driven. But the worst of it is, I have a few days now and then between the turns, and how to keep myself I do not know, until the quarter-day comes to take my promised fees, small as they are."

* Nachtmaal ("night-meal"), the Lord's Supper.

"'In matters of commerce the fault of the Dutch Is in giving too little and asking too much,'"

laughed Mr. Treby. "Show me this coat, and I'll give you what I can for it."

Algarkirke went into the room for his portmanteau, which he unstrapped softly, for fear of disturbing Jack. But the little fellow was wide awake again, and very anxious to see the coat his father was going to buy. It was of gray traveller's tweed, a little stained with salt-water, but not much the worse for wear. But, alas no endeavours could squeeze Mr. Treby's well-developed shoulders into a garment made to fit young Algarkirke's slim figure. His disappointment was excessive. He looked at the half-sovereign in Mr. Treby's hand and bit his lip.

"Like my wretched luck!" he exclaimed. "But stop! I have another that I left behind me at Inderwick—a light dust-coat, too big for me. Neither is it properly my own; a friend lent it to me one wet day just before I left England. It was packed up with my luggage by mistake. 'Keep it,' he wrote, 'it is not worth returning.' You could wear that, I am sure."

"Can you let me have it before I start?" asked Mr. Treby.

"The people here have promised to send me on to the next farm; it is a part of our bargain. I will ask the man who drives me to bring it back, if that will do. I leave here the day after tomorrow," said Algarkirke, closing his fingers over the gold Mr. Treby dropped into his hand.

His exuberant gratitude was checked by the quiet remark, "We must all do as we would be done by. The strangers in the post-cart helped me yesterday, and I'm glad to be able to help you to-night."

VIII.

_JACK'S FEVER._

THE herbal tea Tante Milligen had provided for the little invalid cooled the fever in his veins. When the morning came Jack was sleeping heavily.

But his father could no longer watch beside him. He was obliged to return to his own farm to meet the police, who were expected to arrive that day. He was quite sure that a sufficient party of mounted police would be told off for the defence of the district directly Wilton's report reached head-quarters.

The affair would be investigated; a repetition guarded against; but should he see his sheep again? Mr. Treby's heart failed him there. He knew it was wiser to leave the burning ashes of his house untouched until the police had been. He wanted to bring back Tottie to nurse his Jack now her husband had returned. But Tante Milligen said "No;" she had Hottentots enough in the house already. She did not want one that had been spoiled by these English to come there to upset her girls. The poor child should not want for proper care; she would see to that.

The Boeress was in anything but a happy frame of mind; for the Kafir girl had run away in the night, and Tante Milligen declared she had lost her right hand.

In circumstances like his, Mr. Treby could say no more. He knew he ought to feel very grateful to his Dutch neighbours for their rough and ready hospitality, and he could not endure the thought of encroaching on their kindness.

But he could not leave his boy without a word. Everything was ready for his departure, when at last Jack opened his eyes, half-frightened at his strange surroundings. But the delirious fancies of the night were over, although he felt weak and faint.

Mr. Treby began to hope it was but a slight attack of fever, and that with quiet and care he would soon be better. He was afraid to let Jack talk even about Zyl's garden, or what a naughty bird Vickel had been; and would not let him fret over the poor Black Antelope, assuring him the Boer's anger was soon over, and he had asked her master not to punish her any more.

So with a parting kiss, and a promise to come back as soon as he could, he left his boy once more.

He had not seen Algarkirke that morning, for the schoolmaster had fallen asleep in the garden, under the shadow of Zyl's pent-house, which had been constructed out of the remains of his own broken umbrella—a gift he had bestowed upon the ungovernable urchin to bribe him to sit still during his first attempt at teaching, which he was so terribly afraid would be construed into failure.

With a few forcible words about redeeming the time, Tante Milligen hunted him out of his retreat, ignoring the fact that he had omitted to put in an appearance at their early Dutch breakfast.

"That was his own lookout," she said; so Genderen was ordered to place the books on the table.

Every now and then Tante Milligen put her head in at the door of the sit-kamé, churn-stick in hand, "just to keep 'em at it; for they couldn't afford to pay their money for nothing."

The poor tutor, who was all the worse for his night-watch, yawned in sympathy with his scholars. Mr. Treby had set the door of Jack's room wide open, to give him all the air he could. When Sannie caught sight of his curly head among the pillows, she slid off her chair, and gathering the letters he had cut out for her in her lap, she trotted to his bed. She waddled round the slaap-kamé like a little duck, until she came to the head of the bed where Jack was lying. There was a pout on the rosy lips, and recent ominous catch in her breath, suggestive of distress; for Sannie, like her mother, was sorely distressed at the disappearance of the Black Antelope, who had fondled her from her birth. One little fat hand unclosed and displayed a bit of a dirty card; then the precious letters in her lap were spread out before him, intimating the young lady's desire to repeat the pleasure of yesterday.

Jack thought of his knife, and sprang out of bed to search for it. He shook his pockets inside out, but oh! His knife was nowhere to be found. He put his hand to his head to try to think. Yes, he remembered distinctly. He was sure now that German shepherd had picked it up.

Sannie was frightened when she saw him crawling under the bed, for he thought he would look everywhere about the floor; so she set up a cry, which brought the old Hottentot woman to see what was the matter. Without more ado, she drove out Sannie, seized Jack by the arms and put him back into bed, charging him with imperative gestures to keep there.

Tante Milligen followed with some more of that odious herbal tea, which she compelled him to drink. Then mistress and maid stood over him in earnest consultation. A huge pair of scissors was produced from Tante Milligen's capacious pocket. He hoped she was not going to cut off his head, and felt enormously relieved when he found it was only his hair she wanted. He wondered what she could want it for. Oh, it was wretched to be with people who could not understand a single word. Yet he almost laughed when he saw the shrivelled yellow fingers of the Hottentot sweeping away his curls with evident satisfaction.

"They would stuff a good pin-cushion," he thought.

But they left the heap on the floor, and covered his head with a cabbage-leaf. It seemed so ridiculous, but he was obliged to submit. Then the room was darkened, and the heavy curtains of the bed were closely drawn, and he heard the door shut as they went away. He thought he was suffocating, but at length the darkness and the quiet melted into dreamy sleep. By-and-by they brought him some brandy-posset, which he could not drink. In that darkened room the day seemed like night. No one came near him but Tante Milligen, with the cow's horn in her hand; and in spite of his wry faces, she always contrived to get the thin end of the horn between his teeth, and then there was nothing for it but to gulp down the bitter draught it contained as quickly as he could.

Jack believed he had had seven nights already, and yet his father did not come. Algarkirke strolled in at last, with his pipe in his mouth, and roundly asserted there had been no night at all yet, although he hoped one was coming.

Then Jack unfolded his idea about the pin-cushions, and confided to the schoolmaster how much he would like do the stuffing. "It is my own hair, so they might let me," he added, a little annoyed by the laugh with which this suggestion was received. Then he remembered his knife, and entreated Mr. Algarkirke to look for it in the sit-kamé. "I know," he persisted, "that German picked it up; but where could he put it?"

Algarkirke promised to tell Zyl, and persuade him to undertake the search. But his promise was of the pie-crust order, made to be broken. He wished to pacify the sick child, but, pitying the poor Black Antelope, he did not wish to cast a suspicion on any one else. He seemed sensitive on the subject, and shrank from it, even with Jack; so he did not mention the knife to any one.

Mr. Algarkirke was soon superseded by the Hottentot, who sat down on the foot of the bed and stared at Jack, who shut his eyes so that he should not see her. Then he seemed to feel all round him the flames of his burning home; and yet it was not his Tottie crawling out of the sloot, but the ugly face of this stranger Hottentot that was staring at him between the curtains of the bed.

To all his feverish mutterings she responded with a "Jah! Jah!" which sounded more like the cluck of a hen than a woman's voice. But she gave him mutton-broth and grapes, and forced him to lie still; for Jack had an unconquerable longing to get up and walk about. He told her again and again he must go and meet his father, but he might as well have spoken to a post.

One thing he was truly grateful for. The Hottentot armed herself with a long bough, and every now and then set vigorously to work to drive away the flies, which had teased him so the night before. Yet the sleep he longed for refused to come, until he heard the lowing of the cows as they were driven in for milking, and then the wakefulness of the night was exchanged for a drowsy stupor, which lasted through the glaring noonday heat.

"They have made me a bed in the oven," moaned Jack, when the schoolmaster looked in on the third day to bid him "good-bye."

"I shall send the coat," he said; "I hope it will fit your father. I shall miss your little English face when I come to Jaarsveldt next time, for I suppose then you will be sifting diamonds at Kimberley. You must learn a little of their wonderful Dutch patience from your new friends. I hope your father will come back before I start."

But the young Englishman's wish was not gratified. Mr. Treby did not return until the next morning.

At the sight of his father, Jack revived. The fever had turned at the third day, and Jack began to rally. Mr. Treby's gratitude to the worthy "tante" for her motherly care knew no bounds. She had saved his child. But when he talked of taking him away, Van Immerseel laid his great hand on his arm and shook the other in his face, with a good-natured laugh, which tempered a flat refusal.

Tante Milligen summoned her ancient Hottentot, and five black faces appeared above the half-door of the sit-kamé to back her protestation and convince the anxious father he must leave his child where he was or a relapse was certain.

"What do they all mean?" asked Mr. Treby, turning for enlightenment to the German, who had been summoned by Zyl to speak the decisive word.

But Walt pressed before him. He had brought the Englishman home. He had taken to Jack. Algarkirke had repeated to him many more details about the fire, which he had gathered from Mr. Treby's conversation in the night. He knew now that poor little Jack had been barely rescued from the flames.

During the schoolmaster's three days' sojourn at Jaarsveldt, Walt had been picking up English as diligently as the players on old Tom Tiddler's ground are reported to pick up gold and silver.

He pointed to the door of the slaap-kaamé where Jack was lying, and asserted most energetically: "Your boy there very bad boy. We make a full stop of him. All right. You put him in there," he added, pointing to Mr. Treby's waggon, which was drawn up outside the gate. "Wohl—" Alas! His English was exhausted; he rubbed his head, imitated the jog-trot of the oxen, and the jolting and shaking of the lumbering waggon.

Dead set at last for want of a word, which Otto could not or would not supply, he snatched the stick from his brother's hand, and drew the outline of a coffin-lid upon the clayey floor. It was but a lame attempt at speaking English, yet for all that he had made his meaning forcible and plain "Take him away?" he asked, making an impressive pause, then by way of answer to his own inquiry, he pointed to his mother and her coloured maids, as if he were counting them on his fingers. Mr. Treby was almost deafened by the babel of tongues around him, whilst Otto fairly laughed when Walt interpreted this clamour of female tongues as "One big no."

Mr. Treby brushed a tear-drop from his eye and shook hands all round. So it was settled that Jack must be left behind. His father's heart was touched by the rough kindliness of his Dutch neighbours.

The loft over the end of the house to the farm-yard happened just now to be empty. Van Immerseel kept his wool there. He had sold it all out, so that the loft would not be wanted until the next sheep-shearing; and Walt suggested that Mr. Treby's things would be quite safe in there until his return. For of course he must unload his waggon before he could let it to his neighbour at Scarsdorp.

He had raked out a few things from the ashes the day before—pieces of iron, hooks, and hinges; the lump of lead into which his bullets had melted; and more than all, the blackened and misshapen contents of his purse. Would his money pass? He could hardly tell. There were two sovereigns sticking together, and the smaller silver pieces had run into a shapeless lump; but the half-crowns, being more solid, were less injured.

Zyl came to help him to unload, whilst Sannie sat at the foot of the wooden ladder watching their proceedings. There was no time to be lost, for Mr. Treby knew that his thirteen oxen would be longer on the road than when he had fourteen, and he wanted to leave everything as straight as he could for Seco and Tottie. But the thought of parting from his little Jack weighed heavily on his heart, for he could not tell how long he should be gone. Vickel, in her joy at having her master back again, insisted on perching on his shoulder, and pecking from his hand, much to Zyl's amusement.

Whilst they were still busy packing in the loft, a messenger arrived from Scarsdorp with the final order for Mr. Treby. He must be ready with his waggon in the morning, when the bearer of the message would return with him.

"That is a fine bird of yours, master," laughed the man, as Vickel saluted him with her loudest scream, "and a valuable one. Nothing so quick as an ostrich to detect a stranger's presence. Why, she will be worth twenty pounds of anybody's money when she begins to lay. A brood of chicks like herself will prove a little fortune. They would be worth ten pounds each as soon as they are out of the shell."

"You think so?" cried Mr. Treby, brightening. "I do not know much about ostrich management. I brought this one up to be a guard about the place. She has cost me nothing, for she lives on the wild rosemary and scrubby grass that the sheep won't eat. If it had not been for my boy, I believe I should sold her for a very small sum in my strait."

"Sell her," exclaimed the messenger, "with ostrich feathers selling at £23 the pound, and she just coming into profit! No, no."

Mr. Treby stroked the fond bird's satin breast as he made her dismount. Could it indeed be true? He thought of the summer morning when one of the wild-looking Kafirs, who were helping him to reap his little wheat-field, had found the ostrich's nest, and had given one of the chicks to Jack for a pet and plaything. Well, he intent upon his sheep had not thought much about her value certainly. He thanked the man for his advice, feeling as if all unawares, he had put his foot on the first step of the ascending ladder of fortune.

"That is news for Jack," he thought, casting a critical glance over his tall favourite, who was now enjoying herself picking a bone like a dog. The bird had wonderfully improved. It was Genderen's bowl of barley night and morning which had wrought the change, but Mr. Treby knew nothing about that. He concluded Vickel got her own living here as she did at home, browsing on the sandy veldt, or he would not have left her at Jaarsveldt.