y cold. But Hilda? Hilda? Whatever
came, I must find Hilda.

Fortunately, I had my loaded revolver in my belt. Though we had not in
the least anticipated this sudden revolt--it broke like a thunder-clap
from a clear sky--the unsettled state of the country made even women go
armed about their daily avocations.

I strode on, half maddened. Beside the great block of granite which
sheltered the farm there rose one of those rocky little hillocks of
loose boulders which are locally known in South Africa by the Dutch name
of kopjes. I looked out upon it drearily. Its round brown ironstones lay
piled irregularly together, almost as if placed there in some earlier
age by the mighty hands of prehistoric giants. My gaze on it was blank.
I was thinking, not of it, but of Hilda, Hilda.

I called the name aloud: "Hilda! Hilda! Hilda!"

As I called, to my immense surprise, one of the smooth round boulders on
the hillside seemed slowly to uncurl, and to peer about it cautiously.
Then it raised itself in the slant sunlight, put a hand to its eyes,
and gazed out upon me with a human face for a moment. After that it
descended, step by step, among the other stones, with a white object
in its arms. As the boulder uncurled and came to life, I was aware, by
degrees... yes, yes, it was Hilda, with Tant Mettie's baby!

In the fierce joy of that discovery I rushed forward to her, trembling,
and clasped her in my arms. I could find no words but "Hilda! Hilda!"

"Are they gone?" she asked, staring about her with a terrified air,
though still strangely preserving her wonted composure of manner.

"Who gone? The Matabele?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Did you see them, Hilda?"

"For a moment--with black shields and assegais, all shouting madly. You
have been to the house, Hubert? You know what has happened?"

"Yes, yes, I know--a rising. They have massacred the Klaases."

She nodded. "I came back on my bicycle, and, when I opened the door,
found Tant Mettie and little Sannie dead. Poor, sweet little Sannie! Oom
Jan was lying shot in the yard outside. I saw the cradle overturned,
and looked under it for the baby. They did not kill her--perhaps did not
notice her. I caught her up in my arms, and rushed out to my machine,
thinking to make for Salisbury, and give the alarm to the men there.
One must try to save others--and YOU were coming, Hubert! Then I
heard horses' hoofs--the Matabele returning. They dashed back,
mounted,--stolen horses from other far