The old man’s yellow face looked up in a sly grin. “Ah, Anniekye,” said he unctuously; “but Ou’ Wolf never did ketch Ou’ Jackalse. He ain’t never bin slim enough yet. He make a big ole try dat time when he got Oom Baviyàan to help him; but all dey got was dat kink in Ou’ Baviyàan’s tail—you can see it yet.”
“But how did old Bobbyjohn get that kink in his tail? You never told us that, Ou’ Ta’,” protested Annie.
The old Hottentot smiled to the little girl, and then straightway sighed to himself. “If you little folks only knowed de Taal,” said he plaintively. “It don’t soun’ de same in you’ Englis’ somehow.” He shook his head sadly over English as the language for a Hottentot story handed down in the Boer tongue. He had been long enough in the service of this “English” family (an American father and Australian mother) to know enough of the language for bald use; though, being a Hottentot, he had never mastered the “th,” as a Basuto or other Bantu might have done, and was otherwise uncertain also—the pronunciation of a word often depending upon that of the words next before and after it. But English was not fond enough, nor had diminutives enough, for a kitchen tale as a house Kaffir loves to tell it.
None the less, his eyes brightened till the smile danced in his face as his words began. “Ou’ Wolf—well, Ou’ Wolf, he’d a seen a lot less trouble if he ha’n’t had sich a wife, for Ou’ Missis Wolf she yust had a temper like a meer-cat. Folks use’ to won’er how Ou’ Wolf manage’ wid her, an’ Ou’ Jackalse use’ to say to him, ‘Allah man! if she was on’y my wife for about five minutes she’d fin’ out enough to tink on as long’s she keep a-livin’.’ An’ den Ou’ Jackalse, he’d hit ’is hat back on to de back of his head an’ he’d step slouchin’ an’ fair snort agen a-grinnin’.
“But Ou’ Wolf ud look behind to see if his missis was hearin’, an’ den he’d shake his head, an’ stick his hands in his pockets an’ walk off an tink. He’d see some mighty tall tinkin’ yust up over his head, but he couldn’ somehow seem to get a-hold of it.
“Well, one mawnin’ Missis Wolf she get up, an’ she look on de hooks an’ dere ain’t no meat, an’ she look in de pot an’ dere ain’t no mealies. ‘Allah Crachty!’ says she, ‘but dat Ou’ Wolf is about de laziest skellum ever any woman wore herse’f out wid. I’ll ketch my deat’ of him afore I’s done.’
“Den she look outside, an’ dere she seen Ou’ Wolf a-settin’ on de stoop in de sun. He was yust a-waitin’, sort o’ quiet an’ patient, for his breakfas’, never dreamin’ nothin’ about bein’ banged about de yead wid a mealie ladle, when out flops Missis Wolf, an’ fair bangs him a biff on one side his head wid de long spoon. ‘You lazy skellum!’ ses she, an’ bash she lams him on his t’other year. ‘Where’s darie (that there) meat for de breakfas’ I don’ know?’ ses she, an’ whack she smack him right on top his head. ‘Off you go an’ fetch some dis ver’ minute,’ ses she, an’ Ou’ Wolf he don’ say no moh, but he yust offs, an’ he offs wid a yump too, I can tell you.
“Ou’ Wolf as he go he won’er how he’s goin’ to get dat meat quick enough. ‘I tink I’ll get Ou’ Jackalse to come along a-huntin’ too,’ ses he. ‘He’s mighty slim when he ain’t no need to be, an’ p’raps if he’d be slim a-huntin’ dis mawnin’ we’d ketch somet’in’ quicker.’ An’ Ou’ Wolf rub his head in two-t’ree places as he tink of it.
“Now Ou’ Jackalse, he was a-sittin’ in de sun agen de wall of his house, a-won’erin’ where he’s gun’ to get breakfas’, ’cause he feel dat hungry an’ yet he feel dat lazy dat he wish de grass was sheep so he could lie down to it. But grass ain’t sheep till it’s inside one, an’ so Missis Jackalse, inside a-spankin’ little Ainkye, was a-won’erin’ where she’s gun’ to get some breakfas’ to stop it a-squallin’. ‘I yust wish you’ daddy ’ud tink a bit oftener where I’s gun’ to get bones for you,’ ses she.
“Little Ainkye, she stop an’ listen to dat, an’ den she tink awhile, but she fin’ she don’t get no fatter on on’y talk about bones, an’ fus’ t’ing her mammy know she puts her two han’s up to her eyes an’ fair dives into squallin’ agen.