We have given this description of a farmer of the wealthier classes; we would give his name, but it would serve no purpose, it might only displease him, as he, in common with most of his race, dislikes publicity. Let it suffice that the description given is from life.
CHAPTER XXII
A TALK ON BEES
Steve and his friends were received with the greatest cordiality; first, because Steve was known to the family and liked by them, and secondly, because hospitality is natural—in fact, seems born in a Boer. You will arrive at a farmhouse—poor or rich—you are one of the so-called hated nation—a rooi nek (nickname given to Englishmen because their tender skin causes their necks to blister and turn red in the hot South African sun, literally meaning ‘red nek’)—unknown; at the door you meet a youngster just able to talk. You will dismount. This premature young man will come up to you with an air of—playing the host about him, will take hold of your hand, give it a shake, and say,—
‘Wil Oom nie afzaal nie?’ (Will uncle saddle off?)
Yes you will.
‘Well, then, uncle can walk just right in and have a cup of coffee; I will see to the horse.’
Well, as I said, our young friends were well received, and soon found themselves seated around a supper table, as well laid and as well provisioned as man’s heart could desire in such a locality. Roast beef, stewed guinea-fowl, leg of venison, stuffed with bacon and baked vegetables, salads, etc., custard pudding, blanc mange, fresh butter, cheese, etc., washed down with coffee, and such coffee as only a Tante knows how to brew, and that Java coffee too. After supper, the party adjourned to the sitting-room, where they were soon followed by the Tante, after she had seen to the servants getting their food, and the remnants of the supper had been safely put away.
‘Now, Stephaans,’ said she to Steve, ‘you or your friends must come and look at a bee-hive that a winkelier (shopkeeper) made me buy in town last week. It is one of those new-fangled patent things. Its inside is full of pieces of wood—goodness only knows what for. They say it is better than just an empty box for the bees. I don’t understand it. Do you or any of your friends understand it?’
Now Steve saw a chance to distinguish himself in the way he liked to do—by being useful. Apiarian books had been among his favourite studies, so he knew all about it, having always kept one or more hives for study and also for—honey.