The boy hesitated for a minute before replying. He had apparently
grave doubts as to whether 'ma' would concede even if he did ask her.

'Ma, I want to shoot Witbooi with my gun.'

Witbooi was a Kaffir umfaan, who had no particular liking for his
young Baas.

'I can't promise you that until your pa comes home, Gert,' said his
'ma,' patting him lovingly on the head, and at the same time lending
her critical eye to the mealie business.

The boy left his mother's side and walked away a few yards, evidently
disgusted with unsympathetic 'mas.' Then, apparently changing his
mind, he ran towards her again, and clung to her dress, meantime
looking up in her face.

'I'll tell you, ma--I'll tell you,' he said laughingly.

'That's a good boy,' said 'ma,' again patting him on the head.

'I see waggons coming; that's it!' exclaimed the boy, running away
playfully, and observing with evident satisfaction the look of
surprise on his mother's face, as if it atoned somewhat for the
disappointment regarding the fate of Witbooi.


Billing and Sons, Printers, Guildford