eat that truth?"

"I think, mynheer," I replied, growing white with rage at this new
insult, "the same that has happened to yonder buck," and I pointed to
the klipspringer behind Hans's saddle. "I mean that I shall shoot you."

"Peste! Au moins il a du courage, cet enfant" (At least the child is
plucky), exclaimed Monsieur Leblanc, astonished. From that moment, I may
add, he respected me, and never again insulted my country to my face.

Then Marais broke out, speaking in Dutch that I might understand:

"It is you who should be called pig, Leblanc, not this boy, for, early
as it is, you have been drinking. Look! the brandy bottle is half empty.
Is that the example you set to the young? Speak so again and I turn you
out to starve on the veld. Allan Quatermain, although, as you may have
heard, I do not like the English, I beg your pardon. I hope you will
forgive the words this sot spoke, thinking that you did not understand,"
and he took off his hat and bowed to me quite in a grand manner, as his
ancestors might have done to a king of France.

Leblanc's face fell. Then he rose and walked away rather unsteadily;
as I learned afterwards, to plunge his head in a tub of cold water and
swallow a pint of new milk, which were his favourite antidotes after
too much strong drink. At any rate, when he appeared again, half an hour
later, to begin our lesson, he was quite sober, and extremely polite.

When he had gone, my childish anger being appeased, I presented the Heer
Marais with my father's compliments, also with the buck and the birds,
whereof the latter seemed to please him more than the former. Then my
saddle-bags were taken to my room, a little cupboard of a place next to
that occupied by Monsieur Leblanc, and Hans was sent to turn the horses
out with the others belonging to the farm, having first knee-haltered
them tightly, so that they should not run away home.

This done, the Heer Marais showed me the room in which we were to have
our lessons, one of the "sitkammer", or sitting chambers, whereof,
unlike most Boer stead, this house boasted two. I remember that the
floor was made of "daga", that is, ant-heap earth mixed with cow-dung,
into which thousands of peach-stones had been thrown while it was
still soft, in order to resist footwear--a rude but fairly efficient
expedient, and one not unpleasing to the eye. For the rest, there was
one window opening on to the veranda, which, in that bright climate,
admitted a sha