ed, and
dared any one to lay hands upon him. Fredoux seeing the serious state
that matters were assuming quietly drew near to the trader's waggon, and
urged him to go peaceably to Kuruman, assuring him that the people were
determined he should go, if not peaceably, then by force.

While thus pleading with this man, a fearful explosion took place, the
waggon and its occupant were blown to atoms, Jean Fredoux and twelve
natives were killed, and about thirty more were injured.

This was a further heavy affliction for Robert Moffat and his wife. As
soon as they heard of the catastrophe, Robert hastened to succour his
widowed daughter, and to consign to the grave at Motito the shattered
remains of his son-in-law.

A few months later another visit was paid to the open grave, this time
to consign to its last resting place the body of Mrs. Brown, the wife of
the Rev. John Brown, who a short time before had taken up his abode at
the Kuruman as a colleague of Robert Moffat.

In 1868 the missionary staff at that station consisted of Robert Moffat
and his son John Moffat. The former had now more than completed the
three-score years and ten allotted to man as the duration of human life,
and unlike the great leader of God's chosen people, of whom it is said,
"his eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated," Robert Moffat felt
the infirmities of age creeping very rapidly upon him. Yet he held on
his way for two years longer. A short and constant cough during the
winter months aggravated his natural tendency to sleeplessness, and at
last he felt himself reluctantly compelled to accept the invitation of
the Directors to return finally to England.

Going home to England it could hardly be called, his home was with his
loved Bechwanas, with those for whom he had toiled and prayed so long.
The ashes of his son Robert, and of his devoted daughter Mary reposed
beneath the sands of Africa; his early and later manhood had been spent
beneath its scorching sun. The house he was to leave had been the
birthplace of most of his children, and his home for more than forty
years. Yes, it was hard to leave; and the expectation had become very
real to him that his body and that of his faithful partner would be laid
side by side in that little burial-ground in the bushy dell, marked by a
few trees, at Kuruman. But the final determination had been arrived at,
and with slow and hesitating steps, as though waiting for something,
even then, to preven