Chapter Four.
The Trading Store.
Ben Halse’s store was full of native women, some with babies and some without; and all were chattering. Two or three had come there to do a deal, and the rest had come to see them do it.
“Au! but this is not the right kind,” muttered one, with a dissatisfied shake of the head, holding up a blue skirt; the others joining critically in its examination. “I want one red and striped, not spotted like this.”
“Here it is, then,” cheerfully returned Verna, producing another. She was presiding goddess on this occasion, as indeed she often was.
But the other, although red and striped, did not seem to please. It was examined critically by the whole committee, except one or two, who, squatted on the floor, were giving undivided attention and, incidentally, nutriment to their infants. The stripes were white instead of yellow, and they ought to be yellow. No white things were worn now.
Verna laughed good-humouredly. She knew her customers. No deal was ever effected with such without seemingly endless discussion—and objections.
“No white things!” she echoed. “Why, I wear white things.”
“Inkosikazi!”