Hysterical one[32] quite tame; “Ach, minheer zijn hand is tog zoo koud; ik wens, minheer, wil die heele dag mij kop hou” ("Ah, sir, your hand is so very cold, I wish you would hold it to my head the whole day").

Found things cleaner at 35; still great misery.

Fear old Mrs. Van Zyl will die.

The De Wets (526) sad way; so many sick; one daughter dead; two children in hospital; this afternoon baby died.

Neglected to go to Mrs. Niemand—­poor little mother!

De Lintz in great misery; gnashing teeth girlie[33] weaker.

Some people selfish in their sorrow; but I don’t suppose a man can fathom the love a mother bears her child!

Near Church (!) great misery; sick mother (husband Bloemfontein) and four sick children; all helplessly ill; no one to help; and water has to be carried and wood fetched and chopped.

Milk supply has been stopped in Camp; this causes great distress.

What sorrows one is to find tent upon tent with sick children and no nourishing or invalid food; not even milk.

Wonder if there can be suffering greater than what some folk endure here.

Mr. Becker funerals; four, I believe, only (!).

Eight died since yesterday afternoon; may a change come speedily.

* * * * *

Friday, September 6.—­Handicapped with a horrible cold, which won’t go away; throat hoarse; unpleasant day, very; wind, dust.

Daily routine:  Hospital; visits; dinner; visits; funerals; visits; supper; bed.

Nine buried this afternoon; “Heere gij zijt ons een Toevlucht van Geslacht tot Geslacht” (Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations); dreary business.

There have died during one month (August) about 230 people.

A new doctor has come, and now I hope things will grow brighter.

Miss Snyman in hospital little better.

Sad case this evening; found mother at bedside[34] of sick child; she has lost two already this week, and this one is the last; husband died Green Point.  The sorrow of it!  May God spare that child’s life.

Hear from Mr. Becker that the old Tante[35] beyond the Camp, with sick mother and sick children, has broken down.  What on earth will become of them?

Some here unconsciously overdo it, and overtax their own strength in their grim fights with Angel of Death.  A sort of superhuman power sustains them for a time, and then—­the collapse!

But there sings the kettle![36]

* * * * *

Saturday, September 7.—­To-morrow is Sunday, and my sermons?  O, the recklessness of it!  I had determined to set aside this afternoon for preparation.

Morning very busy.

Mrs. Mentz’ child dead.

Hospitals; hysterical girl very bad; fear she won’t pull through; others betterish; except the fever one; very weak.