Rachel told him the story with the result that, as her mother had
expected, he was very indignant with her. It was most unkind, and indeed,
un-Christian, he said, not to have asked this very courteous gentleman
into the camp, as he would much have liked to converse with him. He had
often reproved her habit of judging by external, and in the veld, lion and
zebra skins furnish a very suitable covering. She should remember that
such were given to our first parents.

"Oh! I know, father," broke in Rachel, "when the climate grew too cold for
leaf petticoats and the rest. Now don't begin to scold me, because I must
go to cook the dinner. I didn't like the look of the man; besides, he rode
off. Then it wasn't my business to ask him here, but mother's, who stood
staring at him and never said a single word. If you want to see him so
much, you can go to call upon him to-morrow, only don't take me, please.
And now will you send Tom to skin the buck?"

Mr. Dove answered that Tom was busy with the fence, and, ceasing from
argument which he felt to be useless with Rachel, suggested doubtfully
that he had better be his own butcher.

"No, no," she replied, "you know you hate that sort of thing, as I do. Let
it be till the Kaffirs have time. We have the cold meat left for supper,
and I will boil some mealies. Go and help with the fence, father while I
light the fire."

Usually Rachel was the best of sleepers. So soon as she laid her head upon
whatever happened to serve her for a pillow, generally a saddle, her eyes
shut to open no more till daylight came. On this night, however, it was
not so. She had her bed in a little flap tent which hooked on to the side
of the waggon that was occupied by her parents. Here she lay wide awake