“Did Swart Piet come here yesterday?” I asked.  “I thought that I saw his horse as I walked back from the sea.”

“Yes, he came.”

“What for?”

She shrugged her shoulders.  “Oh! mother, why do you ask me?  You know well that he is always troubling me, bringing me presents of flowers, and asking me to opsit with him and what not.”

“Then you don’t want to opsit with him?”

“The candle would be short that I should burn with Swart Piet,” answered Suzanne, stamping her foot; “he is an evil man, full of dark words and ways, and I fear him, for I think that since his father’s death he has become worse, and the most of the company he keeps is with those Kaffir witch-doctors.”

“Ah! like father, like son.  The mantle of Elijah has fallen upon Elisha, but inside out.  Well, it is what I expected, for sin and wizardry were born in his blood.  Had you any words with him?”

“Yes, some.  I would not listen to his sweet talk, so he grew angry and began to threaten; but just then Ralph came back and he went away, for he is afraid of Ralph.”

“Where has Ralph gone so early?” I asked, changing the subject.

“To the far cattle-kraal to look after the oxen which the Kaffir bargained to break into the yoke.  They are choosing them this morning.”

“So.  He makes a good Boer for one of English blood, does he not?  And yet I suppose that when he becomes English again he will soon forget that he was ever a Boer.”

“When he becomes English again, mother!  What do you mean by that saying?” she asked quickly.

“I mean that like will to like, and blood to blood; also that there may be a nest far away which this bird that we have caged should fill.”

“A nest far away, mother?  Then there is one here which would be left empty; in your heart and father’s, I mean;” and dropping her sun-bonnet she turned pale and pressed her hands upon her own, adding, “Oh! speak straight words to me.  What do you mean by these hints?”

“I mean, Suzanne, that it is not well for any of us to let our love wrap itself too closely about a stranger.  Ralph is an Englishman, not a Boer.  He names me mother and your father, father; and you he names sister, but to us he is neither son nor brother.  Well, a day may come when he learns to understand this, when he learns to understand also that he has other kindred, true kindred far away across the sea; and if those birds call, who will keep him in the strange nest?”

“Ah!” she echoed, all dismayed, “who will keep him then?”

“I do not know,” I answered; “not a foster father or mother.  But I forgot.  Say, did he take his rifle with him to the kraal?”

“Surely, I saw it in his hand.”

“Then, daughter, if you will, get on a horse, and if you can find Ralph, tell him that I shall be very glad if he can shoot a small buck and bring it back with him, as I need fresh meat.”