e, a dog, white and sleek, one yellow ear hanging down over his left
eye; the other, his master, a lad of fourteen, and no other than the boy
Waldo, grown into a heavy, slouching youth of fourteen. The dog mounted
the kopje quickly, his master followed slowly. He wore an aged jacket
much too large for him, and rolled up at the wrists, and, as of old, a
pair of dilapidated velschoens and a felt hat. He stood before the two
girls at last.

"What have you been doing today?" asked Lyndall, lifting her eyes to his
face.

"Looking after ewes and lambs below the dam. Here!" he said, holding out
his hand awkwardly, "I brought them for you."

There were a few green blades of tender grass.

"Where did you find them?"

"On the dam wall."

She fastened them beside the leaf on her blue pinafore.

"They look nice there," said the boy, awkwardly rubbing his great hands
and watching her.

"Yes; but the pinafore spoils it all; it is not pretty."

He looked at it closely.

"Yes, the squares are ugly; but it looks nice upon you--beautiful."

He now stood silent before them, his great hands hanging loosely at
either side.

"Some one has come today," he mumbled out suddenly, when the idea struck
him.

"Who?" asked both girls.

"An Englishman on foot."

"What does he look like?" asked Em.

"I did not notice; but he has a very large nose," said the boy slowly.
"He asked the way to the house."

"Didn't he tell you his name?"

"Yes--Bonaparte Blenkins."

"Bonaparte!" said Em, "why that is like the reel Hottentot Hans plays on
the violin--

'Bonaparte, Bonaparte, my wife is sick;
In the middle of the week, but Sundays not,
I give her rice and beans for soup'--

It is a funny name."

"There was a living man called Bonaparte once," said she of the great
eyes.

"Ah yes, I know," said Em--"the poor prophet whom the lions ate. I am
always so sorry for him."

Her companion cast a quiet glance upon her.

"He was the greatest man who ever lived," she said, "the man I like
best."

"And what did he do?" asked Em, conscious that she had made a mistake,
and that her prophet was not the man.

"He was one man, only one," said her little companion slowly, "yet all
the people in the world feared him. He was not born great, he was common
as we are; yet he was master of the world at last. Once he was only a
little child, then he was a lieutenant, then he was a general, then he
was an emperor. When he said a