heartily enough, and called to his daughters--two fine girls, very
smartly dressed for Dutch women--to give the Captain a cup of coffee.
Then John made the rounds after the Boer fashion, and beginning with the
old lady in the chair, received a lymphatic shake of the hand from every
single soul in the room. They did not rise--it is not customary to do
so--they merely extended their paws, all of them more or less damp, and
muttered the mystic monosyllable "_Daag_," short for good-day. It is
a very trying ceremony till one gets used to it, and John pulled up
panting, to be presented with a cup of hot coffee that he did not want,
but which it would be rude not to drink.

"The Captain is the _rooibaatje?_" said the old lady "Aunt" Coetzee
interrogatively, and yet with the certainty of one who states a fact.

John signified that he was.

"What does the Captain come to the 'land' for? Is it to spy?"

The whole audience listened attentively to their hostess's question,
then turned their heads to listen for the answer.

"No. I have come to farm with Silas Croft."

There was a general smile of incredulity. Could a _rooibaatje_ farm?
Certainly not.

"There are three thousand men in the British army," announced the old
_vrouw_ oracularly, and casting a severe glance at the wolf in sheep's
clothing, the man of blood who pretended to farm.