profound bow to Tant Sannie and followed his host, who led the way to his
own little room.

"I thought she would come to her better self soon," the German said
joyously. "Tant Sannie is not wholly bad, far from it, far." Then seeing
his companion cast a furtive glance at him, which he mistook for one of
surprise, he added quickly, "Ah, yes, yes; we are all a primitive people
here--not very lofty. We deal not in titles. Every one is Tante and Oom--
aunt and uncle. This may be my room," he said, opening the door. "It is
rough, the room is rough; not a palace--not quite. But it may be better
than the fields, a little better!" he said, glancing round at his
companion. "Come in, come in. There is something to eat--a mouthful: not
the fare of emperors or kings; but we do not starve, not yet," he said,
rubbing his hands together and looking round with a pleased, half-nervous
smile on his old face.

"My friend, my dear friend," said the stranger, seizing him by the hand,
"may the Lord bless you, the Lord bless and reward you--the God of the
fatherless and the stranger. But for you I would this night have slept in
the fields, with the dews of heaven upon my head."

Late that evening Lyndall came down to the cabin with the German's rations.
Through the tiny square window the light streamed forth, and without
knocking she raised the latch and entered. There was a fire burning on the
hearth, and it cast its ruddy glow over the little dingy room, with its
worm-eaten rafters and mud floor, and broken whitewashed walls. A curious
little place, filled with all manner of articles. Next to the fire was a
great toolbox; beyond that the little bookshelf with its well-worn books;
beyond that, in the corner, a heap of filled and empty grain-bags. From
the rafters hung down straps, riems, old boots, bits of harness, and a