“The sheep are a beetje thin.”
Braddon essayed another throw.
“How goes it with the land?”
After a long silence.
“The land is a beetje dry.”
This was melancholy. Braddon, about to conclude with the usual polite query: “How goes it with the wife?” caught a swift glance from Chrissie and was reminded that he had heard of the old man being a widower of long standing.
“How goes it with the fruit?” he ventured instead.
“The fruit is a beetje behind-time.”
Nick looked gloomily towards his apricot orchard. Chrissie having piloted Braddon past a bad place was now smiling down her retroussé nose. He was considering the matter of moving on when someone else entered upon the scene. Old Retief had seen the Cape cart coming long since but, according to his wont, said nothing. The others were too much occupied with their own thoughts to notice anything, until the dust of Carol Uys’s trap blew over them from the loose ground in front of the stoep.
“Dag, Oom!”