Part 20 (2/2)
”Come on, Claverton, we must pitch some of them in,” cries Hicks, and the two promptly shove their way through the closely-wedged flock, which stands packed like sardines, wheezing and panting in the heat. In a twinkling they have seized half-a-dozen of the obstinate brutes and s.h.i.+ed them in; but the rest show no signs of following, and so they go on, till at last they pause, breathless and bathed in perspiration, for two of the Kafirs to take their places; and finally, by relays of labour, the whole flock is through.
”Whew! but that's warm work,” exclaims Claverton, as, after a short rest, the word is given to bring them on again. ”Perhaps they'll jump this time.”
His conjecture proves correct. Whether it is that they find their plunge cool and refres.h.i.+ng on this hot day, or that they are tired of resistance, or a little of both, is uncertain; but as again, amid whistling and din, the stupid animals are driven down to the water's edge, they follow their leader, at first gingerly and by twos and threes, and then so fast that Hicks takes up his position at the jumping place to check them; in process whereof, having imprudently got too near the edge, he is upset bodily into the water, and disappears from mortal view, to emerge, spluttering and puffing and making awful faces, as he scrambles up the bank, dripping like a half-drowned rat.
I know of nothing more funny than the sudden and unexpected descent of any one into deep water. The utter woefulness, combined with an indignant air of injured innocence, which the sufferer's countenance invariably a.s.sumes on emerging, should make a cat laugh; anyhow, nothing human can stand against it. And the savagely furious way in which the patient hisses between his chattering teeth, ”What the devil is there to grin at?” While the _tout ensemble_, his garments clinging to his s.h.i.+vering carcase, is in no wise calculated to invest his just exasperation with the majesty of outraged dignity.
Poor Hicks formed no exception. Everybody was convulsed; one of the Kafirs to such an extent, that he could do nothing but roll on the ground in the exuberance of his glee, though he managed to recover sufficiently to dart out of the way just in time to avoid a mighty kick aimed at his nether quarters by the infuriated object of his mirth.
”There's something for you to grin at, you sooty son of a Ches.h.i.+re cat!”
exclaimed Hicks, savagely; but, as we have seen, he missed his aim, and in a minute had recovered all his wonted good humour.
The sheep gave no more trouble, but went through after that as if they liked it. Two or three turned over in the water, and were rescued as previously described, while one died; but these accidents were inevitable, and soon the flock was straggling away across the _veldt_ to its feeding ground--white, clean, and freshened up.
When they reached home, the dining-room table was strewn with letters and newspapers. The postbag, which was fetched from the nearest agency once a week, had just arrived, and as they entered, Mrs Brathwaite was reading a letter aloud for the public benefit. The writer stated her intention of profiting by an unexpectedly early opportunity, and availing herself of a long-standing and oft-repeated invitation to visit them at Seringa Vale, in about a fortnight from then, and subscribed herself: ”_Lilian Strange_.”
”Poor thing!” said Mr Brathwaite. ”We'll soon bring the roses back to her cheeks. A couple of months of this splendid air, and she'll be that strong and sunburnt they Won't know her when she goes back.”
And the kindly, hospitable old couple went on discussing their prospective visitor and her joys and sorrows, past, present, and to come; projecting all manner of schemes for making her stay an enjoyable and a happy one.
There was one present whom this letter had set thinking, and that was Claverton. The name seemed familiar and yet not, for he couldn't for the life of him fit it to an individual.
”Lilian--Lilian Strange--Lilian,” he kept repeating to himself. ”Now where the deuce have I come across that name before? Lilian--it's a pretty name, too. No, I can't remember for the life of me.” He could see the writing as the letter lay open on the table. It was rather large and very distinct, but not masculine. But neither it nor memory seemed to aid him, and he gave it up.
”What is she like, aunt?” asked Ethel. ”And what sort of age is she?
Young or middling?”
The old lady laughed. ”Young or middling? Gracious me, child. She's only twenty-three, is sweetly pretty, and has the loveliest eyes I ever saw.”
”Present company excepted--ahem!” cut in Hicks, thinking he had said an excessively smart thing, and colouring and looking an a.s.s on the strength of it.
”We must make her enjoy her visit,” went on Mrs Brathwaite. ”Poor girl, I feel so sorry for her. Her mother is dead, and her stepfather was a country gentleman in England and a wealthy man. When he died all his property went to his own family, and Lilian was left without a penny. Her relations on the stepfather's side were not kind to her, and she was thrown on the world to get her living as best she could, and now she's teaching.”
”Universal refuge for the dest.i.tute,” murmured Ethel. ”What brought her out here?”
”A s.h.i.+p,” chimed in Hicks, intent on being funny. But Ethel looked angrily at him, and he collapsed.
”She came out as a companion to some lady,” answered Mrs Brathwaite.
”Then the McColls at Port Elizabeth engaged her to teach their children, and a nice handful she must find them. I fancy her health has rather broken down. She looked anything but strong when we saw her last June.”
”It'll be a great nuisance,” said Ethel afterwards to her sister when they were alone together, ”to have to be always trundling this girl about. She'll probably give herself no end of airs and try to patronise us all.”
”I don't know,” answered Laura, ”I have an idea she'll be rather nice.
Her letter reads like it.”
”Perhaps so,” rejoined Ethel, a little ashamed of her inhospitable speech; ”let's hope so, anyhow.”
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