Chapter Eighteen.
Venatorial.
“Father, I think we must take out Evelyn and show her how we shoot bushbucks.”
Thus Edala, one lovely morning at breakfast time.
“I don’t mind. What do you say, Evelyn?”
“That it would be delightful. But shouldn’t I be in your way?”
“Not if you keep quiet, and do as you are told,” said Edala. “Oh, and by the way, don’t wear any colours. It’s astonishing how you miss chances that way.”
“What have I got? Oh I know. I’ve got an old khaki coloured dress. At the time of the Boer war, you know, some of us took on a fit of idiocy in the way of khaki fever. It didn’t last, of course, but I brought the thing out here with me under a sort of vague impression it might be useful in the veldt for knocking-about purposes.”
“The very thing,” cried Edala. “Now go and put it on, and I’ll get into my ‘Robin Hood’ outfit. Father, you see about the horses.”
“Anything else?”