t into the store to fetch some meal, and when I came out he had
shuffled close to the door. He had kept his eyes on the ground, but
now he looked up at me, and I thought he had very bright eyes for such
an old wreck.

'The nights are cold, Inkoos,' he wailed, 'and my folk are scattered,
and I have no kraal. The aasvogels follow me, and I can hear the
blesbok.' 'What about the blesbok?' I asked with a start.

'The blesbok are changing ground,' he said, and looked me straight in
the face.

'And where are the hunters?' I asked. 'They are here and behind me,' he
said in English, holding out his pot for my meal, while he began to
edge into the middle of the road.

I followed, and, speaking English, asked him if he knew of a man named
Colles.

'I come from him, young Baas. Where is your house? Ah, the school.
There will be a way in by the back window? See that it is open, for
I'll be there shortly.' Then lifting up his voice he called down in
Sesuto all manner of blessings on me for my kindness, and went
shuffling down the sunlit road, coughing like a volcano.

In high excitement I locked up the store and went over to Mr Wardlaw.
No children had come to school that day, and he was sitting idle,
playing patience. 'Lock the door,' I said, 'and come into my room.
We're on the brink of explanations.'

In about twenty minutes the bush below the back-window parted and the
Kaffir slipped out. He grinned at me, and after a glance round, hopped
very nimbly over the sill. Then he examined the window and pulled the
curtains.

'Is the outer door shut?' he asked in excellent English. 'Well, get me
some hot water, and any spare clothes you may possess, Mr Crawfurd. I
must get comfortable before we begin our indaba.[2] We've the night
before us, so there's plenty of time. But get the house clear, and see
that nobody disturbs me at my toilet. I am a modest man, and sensitive
about my looks.'

I brought him what he wanted, and looked on at an amazing
transformation. Taking a phial from his bundle, he rubbed some liquid
on his face and neck and hands, and got rid of the black colouring.
His body and legs he left untouched, save that he covered them with
shirt and trousers from my wardrobe. Then he pulled off a scaly wig,
and showed beneath it a head of close-cropped grizzled hair. In ten
minutes the old Kaffir had been transformed into an active
soldierly-looking man of maybe fifty years. Mr Wardlaw stared as if he