The girl fell into a moment’s brooding silence.
“War is horrible!” she said slowly.
“Horrible, yes, maar afterwards we shall be the baases, and call our country our own.”
“I am not sure, Carol; they say these English are good fighters.”
“Mastag! and what about the Boers? We will show them, you wait a little.”
After another silence, he spoke again in a different voice.
“Chrissie—”
Looking up she saw his bashful purpose in his eyes, and strove to avoid the issue.
“Do you see how sick my Poppa is, Carol?”
“Yes, I am sorry, Chrissie, he is very sick. This trouble with the railway has turned his blood, I’m afraid.”