hot water, brandy and
milk, all the insignia of the valley of the shadow did she put to
hand, and con over and adjust and think upon, and then there was the
waiting. She waited on the stoep, burning and tortured, boring at the
horizon with dry eyes, and praying and hoping. A lifetime went in
those hours, and the sun was slanting down before the road yielded,
far and far away, a speck that grew into a cart going slowly. By and
by she was able to see her husband driving, but nobody with him--only
a rag or a garment that fluttered from the side. Her mind snatched at
it; was it--God! what was it?

David drove into the yard soberly; she was at the stoep.

"All is ready," she said, in a low voice. "Will you bring him in?"

"Yes," he said; and she went inside with her heart thrashing like a
kicking horse.

David carried in his son in his arms; he was not yet past that. On
the white bed inside they laid him, and where his fair head touched
the pillow it dyed it red. Frikkie's face was white and blue, and his
jaw hung oddly; but once he was within the door, some reinforcement
of association came to Christina, and she went about her ministry
purposefully and swiftly, a little comforted. At the back of her
brain dwelt some idea such as this: here was her house, her home,
there David, there Frikkie, here she, and where these were together
Death could never make the fourth. The same thought sends a stricken
child to its mother. David leant on the foot of the bed, his burning
eyes on the face of his son, and his brows tortured with anxiety.
Christina brought some drink in a cup and held it to the still lips
of the young man.

"Drink. Frikkie," she pleaded softly. "Drink, my kleintje. Only a
drop, Frikkie, and the pain will fly away."

She spoke as though he were yet a child, for a mother knows nothing
of manhood when her son lies helpless. The arts that made him a man
shall keep him a man; so she coaxed the closed eyes and the dumb
mouth.

But Frikkie would not drink, heard nothing, gave no sign. Christina
laid drenched cloths to his forehead, deftly cleansed and bandaged
the gaping rent in the base of the skull whence the life whistled
forth, and talked to her boy all the while in the low crooning mother
voice. David never moved from the foot of the bed, and never loosed
his drawn brows. In came little Paul silently and took his hand, but
he never looked down, and the father and the child remained there
throughout the lang