stern had prophesied correctly. The news had spread fast
enough, and by degrees the country was overrun, and a busy city sprang
up not many miles away. They saw it with sorrow, certainly not from
sordid motives--for within three months of the night when the old man
visited Kopfontein, Dyke and his brother had picked up here and there
all they cared to seek--but from a liking for the quiet life and their
home on the veldt.

But as it grew more and more changed, the time seemed to draw nearer for
saying good-bye to the little farm, where, from old associations, they
still bred ostriches, and with far better fortune, leading a simple
life, tended by Tanta Sal and a Kaffir whom they found that they could
trust.

At last the time came.

"Home, little un?" said Emson laconically.

"Yes: Old England now," said the great strapping fellow six feet high.
"Everything has changed, and I don't like the people who come always
hanging about."

So they rode away one day, with Duke and the Kaffir at the head of the
team, and Tanta Sal seated in the wagon-box behind, smiling and happy at
the thought of the change, and giving the two young lions in their cage
a scrap from time to time.

The homeward-bound pilgrims reached old Morgenstern's farm, where they
were warmly welcomed, Tanta Sal arriving just at the right time.

"Vor you see we are gedding ferry old beobles now, mein sohn," said
Morgenstern; "und as I am a ridge man, I do not like to zee mein old
vomans vork zo hart.--Aha! und zo yo dake die gubs mit you?"

"Yes," said Dyke, "we are going to try and get them to England as a
present for the Zoo."

"Zo!" said the old man.

Tanta Sal smiled contentedly when they rode off, a week later. She had
no compunction about staying, while the Kaffir man was to come back with
the empty wagon and team when the pilgrims reached the big town, from
whence travelling was easy to the Cape.

And as the brothers mounted to go, Emson said:

"This is cutting the last string, little un?"

The stalwart "little un" nodded his head gravely.

"Yes, old chap," he said, "but the Kopfontein of the past is gone. It
only lives in one's memory now."

They turned to look back--their wagon slowly crawling on in front, with
the patient oxen, fat and sleek, following the black vorloper--
homeward-bound; and as they sat in their saddles they could see the old
German standing by the place with his wife, waving their hands, and Dyke
almost fancied