finely-strung chords of nature; but that fellow! Was not the ear in that
great body too gross for such delicate mutterings?

Presently he said:

"May I see what you work at?"

The fellow handed his wooden post. It was by no means lovely. The men
and birds were almost grotesque in their laboured resemblance to nature,
and bore signs of patient thought. The stranger turned the thing over on
his knee.

"Where did you learn this work?"

"I taught myself."

"And these zigzag lines represent--"

"A mountain."

The stranger looked.

"It has some meaning, has it not?"

The boy muttered confusedly.

"Only things."

The questioner looked down at him--the huge, unwieldy figure, in size
a man's, in right of his childlike features and curling hair a child's;
and it hurt him--it attracted him and it hurt him. It was something
between pity and sympathy.

"How long have you worked at this?"

"Nine months."

From his pocket the stranger drew his pocket-book, and took something
from it. He could fasten the post to his horse in some way, and throw it
away in the sand when at a safe distance.

"Will you take this for your carving?"

The boy glanced at the five-pound note and shook his head.

"No; I cannot."

"You think it is worth more?" asked the stranger with a little sneer.

He pointed with his thumb to a grave.

"No; it is for him."

"And who is there?" asked the stranger.

"My father."

The man silently returned the note to his pocket-book, and gave the
carving to the boy; and, drawing his hat over his eyes, composed himself
to sleep. Not being able to do so, after a while he glanced over the
fellow's shoulder to watch him work. The boy carved letters into the
back.

"If," said the stranger, with his melodious voice, rich with a sweetness
that never showed itself in the clouded eyes--for sweetness will linger
on in the voice long after it has died out in the eyes--"if for such a
purpose, why write that upon it?"

The boy glanced round at him, but made no answer. He had almost
forgotten his presence.

"You surely believe," said the stranger, "that some day, sooner or
later, these graves will open, and those Boer-uncles with their wives
walk about here in the red sand, with the very fleshly legs with which
they went to sleep? Then why say, 'He sleeps forever?' You believe he
will stand up again?"

"Do you?" asked the boy, lifting for an instant his heavy eyes to the
stranger's face.

Half tak