a deserted and ruined hotel and store.  The road then became so bad that the pace of our horses scarcely reached five miles an hour, and to obtain shelter we had to reach Eland’s River before it became quite dark.  A very steep hill had to be climbed, which took us over the shoulder of the chain of hills, and rumbling slowly down the other side, with groaning brake and stumbling steeds, we met a typical Dutch family, evidently trekking back from the laager in a heavy ox waggon.  The sad-looking mother, with three or four children in ragged clothes, was sitting inside; the father and the eldest boy were walking beside the oxen.  Their apparent misery was depressing, added to which the day, which all along had been cold and dismal, now began to close in, and, what was worse, rain began to fall, which soon grew to be a regular downpour.  At last we could hardly see our grey horses, and every moment I expected we should drive into one of the many pitfalls in the shape of big black holes with which the roads in this part of the Transvaal abounded, and a near acquaintance with any one of these would certainly have upset the cart.  At last we saw twinkling lights, but we first had to plunge down another river-bed and ascend a precipitous incline up the opposite bank.  Our horses were by now very tired, and for one moment it seemed to hang in the balance whether we should roll back into the water or gain the top.  The good animals, however, responded to the whip, plunged forward, and finally pulled up at a house dimly outlined in the gloom.  In response to our call, a dripping sentry peered out, and told us it was, as we hoped, Wolhuter’s store, and that he would call the proprietor.  Many minutes elapsed, during which intense stillness prevailed, seeming to emphasize how desolate a spot we had reached, and broken only by the splash of the heavy rain.  Then the door opened, and a man appeared to be coming at last, only to disappear again in order to fetch coat and umbrella.  Eventually it turned out the owner of the house was a miller, by birth a German, and this gentleman very kindly gave us a night’s hospitality.  He certainly had not expected visitors, and it took some time to allay his suspicions as to who we were and what was our business.  Accustomed to the universal hospitality in South Africa, I was somewhat surprised at the hesitation he showed in asking us into his house, and when we were admitted he claimed indulgence for any shortcomings by saying his children were ill.  We assured him we should give no trouble, and we were so wet and cold that any roof and shelter were a godsend.  Just as I was going to bed, my maid came and told me that, from a conversation she had had with the Kaffir girl, who seemed to be the only domestic, she gathered that two children were suffering from an infectious disease, which, in the absence of any medical man, they had diagnosed as smallpox.  To proceed on our journey was out of the question, but it may be imagined that we left next morning at the very earliest hour possible.