Saw this afternoon most marvellous "en aandoenlijk" (touching) thing in camp.
Mrs. Jacobs, 721; little daughter was shot through stomach on their flight from English, some three weeks ago, and the child lay 'twixt life and death for days; now she is quite well again; too wonderful for words; "Minheer, kijk hier!" (Sir, look here), and the mother unrolled a little flannel vest before my eyes. The front part had two cruel, ugly holes, one an inch, other almost two in length; the whole was as though dipped in blood. Let me be dumb—words would be wicked!
"Ja, minheer, die hempie zal ik bewaar als die grootste schat op aarde, en aan mij kinders en kinds-kinders vermaak" (Yes, sir, this little vest I shall cherish as the greatest treasure I have on earth, and shall bequeath it to my children and children's children).
Splendid meeting this evening; hearty singing; Joh. iii., 16, last Sunday; to-night "Een iegelijk" (Whosoever).
Service this afternoon; "De Heere is mijn herder" (The Lord is my shepherd).
Glad to be able to go through hospital again.
Good news; quantity of things arrived this afternoon. At last!
Friday Night.—"Joy cometh in the morning," so it is written, and yet it was grief and disappointment which came yesterday morning. One case goods missing; and the very one which belongs to me personally. After all these weeks of waiting—hard, hard luck! Never mind! Read few days ago of remedy for "lowness of spirit," "neerslagtigheid" (down-heartedness), "Think of the burdens of some individual you know." Excellent! Now let me think of the sorrows of that unhappy little mother, Mrs. Van Wyk, 167. When last wrote, she had left; but yesterday morning she was sent back; papers not in order; and on inquiries at office to-day was told point-blank (with a snub in the bargain) that she could no more think of going. Such a life; had not the heart to bear the news, for I heard she has been crying all day—poor little castaway. Is there no pity? Feel like Kit Kennedy. Would there were a bag of chaff somewhere near which I could pummel soundly for half an hour, just to let off steam; just to pummel something, seeing one cannot pummel somebody; it might ease the strain.
Why, this innocent creature, with bandaged arm and suckling at breast, she couldn't hurt a fly if she tried; and yet, and yet all this worry, all this endless trouble and disappointment, just to get her from here to her mother in Norval's Pont—and now? Let me not think on it! She will eat her heart away in sorrow, and no doubt soon will be at rest in a bit room six feet by three.