me like a flame. The country was thigh-deep
in grass and spoke of game; as they looked, a springbok got up and
fled. So here they stayed.

David and his Kafirs built the house, such a house as you see only
when the man who is to make his home in it puts his hand to the
building. David knew but one architecture, that of the great hills
and the sky, and when all was done, the house and its background
clove together like a picture in a fit frame, the one enhancing the
other, the two being one in perfection. It was thatched, with deep
eaves, and these made a cool stoep and cast shadows on the windows;
while the door was red, and took the eye at once, as do the plumes of
the aloes. It was not well devised--to say so would be to lend David
a credit not due to him; but it occurred excellently.

The next thing that occurred was a child, a son, and this set the
pinnacle on their happiness. His arrival was the one great event in
many years, for the multiplication of David's flocks and herds was so
well graduated, the growth of his prosperity so steady and of so even
a process, that it tended rather to content than to joy. It was like
having money rather than like getting it. In the same barefoot quiet
their youth left them, and the constant passing of days marked them,
tenderly at first and then more deeply. Their boy, Frikkie, was a
man, and thinking of marrying, when the consciousness of the leak in
their lives, stood up before them.

They were sitting of an evening on the stoep, watching the sun go
down and pull his ribbons after him, when Christina spoke.

"David," she said, "yesterday was twenty-five years since our
marriage. We--we are growing old, David."

She spoke with a falter, believing what she said. For though the
blood is running strong and warm, and the eye is as clear as the
heart is loyal, twenty-five years is a weary while to count back to
one's youth.

David turned and looked at her. He saw for a moment with her eyes--
saw that the tenseness of her girlhood had vanished, and he was
astonished. But he knew he was strong and hale, well set-up and a
good man to be friends with, and as he gripped his knees, he felt the
tough muscle under his fingers, and it restored him.

"Christina," he said, seeing she was troubled, "it is the same with
both of us. You are not afraid to grow old with me, little cousin?"

She came closer to him but said nothing. It was soon after that, and
a wonderful thing in its way, s