and when the grass grows, if you still wish it, we will take a long
journey."

She smiled, but made no answer, knowing that he was thinking of the
place so far away where he believed that once the Portuguese had buried
gold.

The kettle was singing now merrily enough, and Hans, the cook, lifting
it from the fire in triumph--for his blowing exertions had been
severe--poured into it a quantity of ground coffee from an old mustard
tin. Then, having stirred the mixture with a stick, he took a red
ember from the fire and dropped it into the kettle, a process which, as
travellers in the veld know well, has a clearing effect upon the coffee.
Next he produced pannikins, and handed them up with a pickle jar full
of sugar to Mr. Clifford, upon the waggon chest. Milk they had none, yet
that coffee tasted a great deal better than it looked; indeed, Benita
drank two cups of it to warm herself and wash down the hard biscuit.
Before the day was over glad enough was she that she had done so.

The sun was rising; huge and red it looked seen through the clinging
mist, and, their breakfast finished, Mr. Clifford gave orders that the
oxen, which were filling themselves with the dry grass near at hand,
should be got up and inspanned. The voorlooper, a Zulu boy, who had left
them for a little while to share the rest of the coffee with Hans, rose
from his haunches with a grunt, and departed to fetch them. A minute or
two later Hans ceased from his occupation of packing up the things, and
said in a low voice:

"_Kek!_ Baas"--that is "Look!"