but the way he says it. Of course they are
spoons. But he's a fine chap--hey, Kenrick?"

The young rascal, it will be observed, had made a big brother of me by
that time.

"That's a great yarn you've got hold of there, George," I answered, "but
I should advise you not to be too fond of spinning it around, because
I'm pretty certain Beryl wouldn't like it."

"Oh, of course I wouldn't say it to any one but you, Kenrick," he
answered, rather hurt. I had taken the youngster somewhat under my wing
of late, and he was keen to accompany me on my rounds. It had been
decided that he must on no account be allowed to go about alone; in
fact, his father had been advised to send him right away out of the
locality altogether, and was even then negotiating for a school for him
in Port Elizabeth or Cape Town. It could not be too far, it was
represented.

The boy's inconsequent chatter had given another turn to the knife. He
was a sharp youngster, and prone to get in everybody's way. Probably he
had seen or heard more between the two than we had, but as to this, of
course, I should curtly have shut him up had he volunteered any such
narrative to me.

"We'll just look round by Jabavu's flock, and then go home," I said.

"_Ja_, let's. It's beastly cold, and I've had enough of it," he
answered, as if that decided the matter.

Cold it assuredly was. A thin penetrating drizzle was falling, and the
hilltops over beyond the valley were hidden in mist. Dotting the slope
in front, which looked indescribably dreary in the drawing-in afternoon,
a spread of white specks and patches represented a thousand or so of
sheep.

"Why, there are several Kafirs there with Jabavu," said George. "Look,
Kenrick. There are at least three of them--no, two--counting him."

The herd, as we drew near, made a great show of rounding up his flock.
The other two stood still, awaiting our arrival. They gave me sullen
greeting.

"What do you do here, you two? Who are you?" I said in Kafir, which I
could talk fairly well by that time. And hardly had I uttered the words
when I recognised the big savage, Sibuko, and in the other the fellow
who had announced his amiable intention of cutting my throat up there in
the cattle-stealers' cave. "You. What is your name?" I went on,
pointing at this latter.

"Maqala."

The fellow was staring at me with an expression of impudent menace. I
didn't relish his off-hand way of answering, and it was all I