seated herself upon the voorkisse, or driving-box. The sun was not yet
up, and the air was cold with frost, for they were on the Transvaal
high-veld at the end of winter. Even through her thick cloak Benita
shivered and called to the driver of the waggon, who also acted as cook,
and whose blanket-draped form she could see bending over a fire into
which he was blowing life, to make haste with the coffee.

"By and by, Missie--by and by," he answered, coughing the rank smoke
from his lungs. "Kettle no sing yet, and fire black as hell."

Benita reflected that popular report painted this locality red, but
without entering into argument sat still upon the chest waiting till the
water boiled and her father appeared.

Presently he emerged from under the side flap of the waggon where he
slept, and remarking that it was really too cold to think of washing,
climbed to her side by help of the disselboom, and kissed her.

"How far are we now from Rooi Krantz, Father?" she asked, for that was
the name of Mr. Clifford's farm.

"About forty miles, dear. The waggon cannot make it to-night with these
two sick oxen, but after the midday outspan we will ride on, and be
there by sundown. I am afraid you are tired of this trekking."

"No," she answered. "I like it very much; it is so restful, and I sleep
sound upon that cartel. I feel as though I should like to trek on for
the rest of my life."

"So you shall if you wish, dear, for whole months. South Africa is big,