stock, and that
beneath a steady, cold, incessant downpour, which soon defied mere
waterproof, and would have extinguished the comforting pipe but for the
over-sheltering hat brim. Or, substitute for the downpour a fierce sun,
burning down upon hill and kloof, until one felt almost light-headed
with the heat. Or the shearing, which meant a daily round from dawn
till dark in a hot stuffy shed, redolent of grease and wool, and sheep,
and musky, perspiring natives--and this running into weeks. But there
was always something, and seldom indeed could one call any time actually
and indisputably one's own.

Does this sound hardly compatible with the statement I have made above?
It need not; for however hard or arduous the work, I was happy in it. I
felt that I was mastering the secret of a new walk in life, and to me a
highly attractive and independent one. I was simply glowing with
health, and in condition as hard as nails, for although the weather
would now and again run into a trying extreme, on the whole the climate
was gloriously healthy and exhilarating. Then, too, I was sharing in
the only real home I had ever known--certainly the very happiest one I
had ever seen. It mattered not how hard the day had been, there was
always the evening, and we would sit restfully out on the stoep, smoking
our pipes and chatting beneath the dark firmament aflame with stars,
while the shrill bay of jackals ran weirdly along the distant hillside,
and the ghostly whistle of plover circled dimly overhead and around, and
the breaths of the night air were sweet with the distillation from
flowering plant or shrub. Or, within the house Beryl would play for us,
or sing a song or two in her sweet, natural, unaffected way. Or even
the harmless squabbling of the two children would afford many a laugh.

"Tired, Kenrick?" said Septimus Matterson one such evening, after an
unusually hard day of it. "Ha-ha! Stock-farming isn't all picnicking
and sport, is it?"

"Not much; but then I never expected it would be," I answered. "I am
only just healthily tired--just enough to thoroughly appreciate this
prize comfortable chair."

"Anyway, you're looking just twice the man you were when you came.
Isn't he, Beryl?"

"Hardly that, father, or we should have to widen the front door," she
answered demurely. We all laughed.

"Man, Beryl. That reminds me of Trask, when he tries to be funny,"
grunted that impudent pup, George.

"That reminds _me