traitor in cold blood, but to try and trap a man into uttering his own
condemnation seemed too cruel.

The next place we came to was a miserable-looking hovel standing by the
wayside. The door was opened by an old man.

"Good evening, uncle. Can you sell us a few bundles of forage?"

"Good evening. Yes, certainly. Come inside. It's a poor dwelling, but
you are welcome. Johnny, take the horses and put them in the stable.
Won't you join us at supper?"

Our appetites needed no stimulating, and we at once joined the family,
who had just been sitting down to table when we arrived. After the meal
our horses were saddled and brought to the door.

"What do we owe you for the forage?" we asked. It would be an insult
under any circumstance to offer to pay a Boer for a meal, "paying
guests" being still unknown to our benighted nation.

"No, my friends," he said. "I am poor, but I can't take your money. We
are all working for our country, and must help each other."

"That's true, but you must really allow us to pay."

"No, no! A few shillings will make me no richer or poorer." It was only
with the greatest difficulty that we managed to leave a few shillings on
the table. And this in spite of the fact that he was in the direst
poverty. But this is nothing unusual in South Africa, where hospitality
is considered a duty and a pleasure.