wner was a man of some substance. Jemalee had a wife and several
children, who were also the property of his owner. Being an expert
waggon-driver, the Malay was a valuable piece of human goods. On one
occasion Jan Smit happened to be in Capetown, and, hearing of the
Malay's qualities, offered his master a high price for him. The offer
was accepted, but in order to avoid a scene, the bargain was kept secret
from the piece of property, and he was given to understand that he was
going up country on his old master's business. When poor Jemalee bade
his pretty wife and little ones goodbye, he comforted them with the
assurance that he should be back in a few months. On arriving at Smit's
place, however, the truth was told, and he found that he had been
separated for ever from those he most loved on earth. For some time
Abdul Jemalee gave way to sullen despair, and took every sort of abuse
and cruel treatment with apparent indifference, but, as time went on, a
change came over him. He became more like his former self, and did his
work so well, that even the savage Jan Smit seldom had any excuse for
finding fault. On his last journey to the Cape, Smit took the Malay
with him only part of the way. He left him in charge of a friend, who
agreed to look well after him until his return.

Even this crushing of Jemalee's hope that he might meet his wife and
children once more did not appear to oppress him much, and when his
master returned from Capetown he resumed charge of one of the waggons,
and went quietly back to his home in the karroo.

"And can you tell what brought about this change?" asked Considine.

"Oh ja, I knows," replied Ruyter, with a decided nod and a deep chuckle;
"Jemalee him's got a powerful glitter in him's eye now and den--bery
powerful an' strange!"

"And what may that have to do with it?" asked Considine.

Ruyter's visage changed from a look of deep cunning to one of childlike
simplicity as he replied--"Can't go for to say what de glitter of him's
eye got to do wid it. Snakes' eyes glitter sometimes--s'pose 'cause he
can't help it, or he's wicked p'raps."

Considine smiled, but, seeing that the Hottentot did not choose to be
communicative on the point, he forbore further question.

"What a funny man Jerry Goldboy is!" said Jessie McTavish, as she sat
that same evening sipping a pannikin of tea in her father's tent.

From the opening of the tent the fire was visible.

Jerry was busy preparing