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correspondence. Japp was delighted, for, besides getting rid of me for
several weeks, it showed that his advice was respected by his
superiors. He went about bragging that the firm could not get on
without him, and was inclined to be more insolent to me than usual in
his new self-esteem. He also got royally drunk over the head of it.

I confess I was hurt by the manager's silence on what seemed to me more
vital matters. But I soon reflected that if he wrote at all he would
write direct to me, and I eagerly watched for the post-runner. No
letter came, however, and I was soon too busy with preparations to look
for one. I got the bricks and timber from Pietersdorp, and hired two
Dutch masons to run the job. The place was not very far from
Sikitola's kraal, so there would be no difficulty about native helpers.
Having my eyes open for trade, I resolved to kill two birds with one
stone. It was the fashion among the old-fashioned farmers on the
high-veld to drive the cattle down into the bush-veld--which they call
the winter-veld--for winter pasture. There is no fear of red-water
about that season, and the grass of the plains is rich and thick
compared with the uplands. I discovered that some big droves were
passing on a certain day, and that the owners and their families were
travelling with them in wagons. Accordingly I had a light naachtmaal
fitted up as a sort of travelling store, and with my two wagons full of
building material joined the caravan. I hoped to do good trade in
selling little luxuries to the farmers on the road and at Umvelos'.

It was a clear cold morning when we started down the Berg. At first my
hands were full with the job of getting my heavy wagons down the
awesome precipice which did duty as a highway. We locked the wheels
with chains, and tied great logs of wood behind to act as brakes.
Happily my drivers knew their business, but one of the Boer wagons got
a wheel over the edge, and it was all that ten men could do to get it
back again.

After that the road was easier, winding down the side of a slowly
opening glen. I rode beside the wagons, and so heavenly was the
weather that I was content with my own thoughts. The sky was clear
blue, the air warm, yet with a wintry tonic in it, and a thousand
aromatic scents came out of the thickets. The pied birds called 'Kaffir
queens' fluttered across the path. Below, the Klein Labongo churned and
foamed in a hundred cascades. Its waters were