Gave her arrowroot and milk.  This is no isolated case.  How many go away empty-handed who present “briefies” at the office?  The cry for a little brandy or wine is simply pitiable.  And candles!  Fie on it!  O fie!

Our kitchen nearly done; grand tin roof, out of coffee tins (one shilling a tin); must inaugurate on Monday with pancakes or something.

Now for sermon (10.30 p.m.).

* * * * *

Sunday, September 15 (the Great 15th)[45].—­What a day!

Yesterday ecstasy over new church; to-day in the depths again.  Joy shortlived.  This way:  very stormy night; soaking rains; morning whirlwind, frightful; hurried to the church; one side already blown loose; mighty burst wind; whole show laid low.  Such are the vicissitudes of Camp life.

Service out of question.  Thankful!

Similar tent, hospital, also blown down same time.  A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.

One of morgue tents also blown down.

Last night very restless one; bearers with their horrid tramp always waken me, and it is fearful to be so awakened.

Mr. Roelvert they bore away last night, and several others.  It was frightfully dark, and on one occasion the men walked bang against my “airing structure"[46] to their great discomfort.

Woke again 3.30 with peculiar noise.  “There goes Dr. Maddon’s[47] tent,” says I, “the pole has snapped.”  Rather helpless sort; guessed he would come to me; and so it was.  Made him call out five times before I answered, just for fun; got up and helped him; delightful to get into bed again.

So sorry.  I hear Betty Lotz was buried yesterday in blanket; glad I was unaware it was she.  She asked me the last time I saw her, “Wanneer gaat, minheer, dan mij stukkie lees uit die Bijbel?” ("Sir, when are ou going to read my little portion out of the Bible?”) “Wat is dit dan, Betty?” ("What is it, Betty?”) “Minheer, van Jairus en sijn dochtertje” ("Sir, about the daughter of Jairus").  I promised to read that for next day; but this promise unfulfilled; couldn’t go to hospital yesterday; besides, she was carried away by then.  Never mind, I’ll read about Jairus’ daughter to-morrow all the same.

Betty Kruger betterish; poor little thing; her mother died in beginning of week, also in hospital.  She knows nothing though, but to-day she asked her sister to make her a black frock because her mother was dead.

Miss Taljaard very much better; if she pulls through it will be a miracle.  Mr. Van der Merwe very, very bad indeed (enteric); wonder if!  Sad; mother died some days ago; then young wife, and yesterday his little daughter was buried.  Is there a sorrow like to our sorrow?

Little boy is dying in hospital.

49; child also dead.

156; of these remaining orphans (Joubert’s), one little girlie is dying.  Foeitog!

70 very much better.