way herself. She was on a pilgrimage of her own. Dick sent
over a messenger hot-haste to tell me that a lady was at his
place and had asked for me. She wanted me to spare the morning
to-morrow if I possibly could. She would have me come on an
expedition with her and talk over something that she had in her
mind to do. Couldn't I sleep at Dick's homestead that night?

I could. I came over about nine o'clock I suppose, walking in a
fresh south-easter with a half-moon to light me. Dick was smoking
outside in the yard when I came.

'The lady's tired,' he told me. 'She's turned in already. She's
got a lad with her. He's inside. Come in and have some supper.'

The stranger rose up as I came in, and I greeted him. He was a
tall, fair boy, whose face I seemed to know. He told me that he
had driven his mother down, as I sat over my supper. I glanced up
at the wall curiously before I had finished. The picture was not
there.

'I thought it was better out of the way,' Dick said when his
guest had gone to bed. 'I didn't know how she might take it. It's
the mother of those poor little Scotch children come to see the
place. Wants to put up a gravestone or monument or something,
poor lady!'

Then I knew where I had seen the stranger boy's face. It was the
image of his dead brother's face in the picture, the white
piccaninny that carried the Mashona baby. I whistled softly.

'Who painted that picture?' I said. 'I know all yon told me. But
did that chap ever come down the road again? I never asked you.'

'No,' said Dick, 'I don't know to this day any more about him.'

I sat silent.

'She wants you to go over to the place with her to-morrow,' Dick
said. 'You know the place, don't you? It's only about three miles
away up the old wagon road; you've been there, haven't you?'

'Yes,' I said. 'There's a wooden cross where they're buried or
should be. I had it renewed two years ago. Didn't I ever tell you
about it? Haven't you been there yourself lately?'

'No,' said Dick. 'I don't fancy the place somehow. But I was
asking about it only this afternoon. The boys tell me there are
some trees there still; white men's trees.'

'Yes,' I said, 'yellow peach-stocks and one gumtree you get it
against the skyline looking up from the spruit. The old pole and
daub house dropped to pieces long ago. I do hope that cross is
standing all right still. I blame myself for not having seen
about it this last year or two.'

The cross had fallen do