he ground smoking
their pipes, while Kenneth, fuming at this unlooked for mishap which
threatened an even more serious delay, strode up and down the _veldt_,
swearing at the mules, the stolid drivers and everything else in sight.

Francois, who had left camp for assistance long before sunrise, had not
yet returned. Unless help came soon they'd be held there another
night. There was no use trying to proceed without a guide, for they
might find themselves going round and round in a circle. There was
nothing to do but wait until help came.

Sitting down on the stump of a tree near the fire, he tried to possess
his soul in patience while one of the teamsters, who also officiated as
cook, busied himself getting breakfast. It was now broad daylight; the
weather clear and cold. As he sat there idly and smoked reflectively,
his thoughts wandered homeward, four thousand miles across the seas.
He wondered what Helen was doing, if little Dorothy was well, if
everything was all right. Only now he realized what the word home
meant to him, and a chill ran through him as he thought of all the
things that could happen. Yet how foolish it was to worry. What could
happen? Helen had her sister constantly with her, and she was well
looked after by Mr. Parker and Wilbur Steell. It was absurd to have
any anxiety on that score. Besides, if anything had gone wrong, they
would certainly have called him. He had had several letters from
Helen, all of them saying she and baby were well and waiting eagerly
for his return. Yes, he would soon be home now. In another two days
he would reach Cape Town. From there to Southampton was only a
fortnight's sail, and in another week he would be in New York.

These and kindred thoughts of home ran through his mind as he sat
before the camp fire and tranquilly smoked his pipe. The drivers were
busying themselves cleaning the harness, the mules were docilely
browsing, the air was filled by a fragrant odor of coffee. His
memories went back to his boyhood days. He recalled what the old nurse
had told him about a twin brother. How strange it would be if he ever
turned up. Such things were possible, of course, but hardly probable.
No, the chances were that he was dead. If he had lived, how different
everything might have been. He would have inherited half their
father's money. What had been enough to start one so well in life
would only have been a meagre provision for two. Yet it might hav