“You gave up?”
“Sonny; you didn’t know young Abe—no, you didn’t. But I did. And I tell you, for all his emptiness, he jes’ kep’ on. Yes, sir—he did that I said the darkness were down, but when I looked aroun’ I seed the glimmer o’ a spark down below, an’ I kep’ my eyes on it whiles I crawled down the steep of the hill to the kloof below. Things happen sometimes, sonny, in a way that makes you very quiet an’ thoughtful. A bird flew up—a grey-wing partridge, I guess, from the whirr—and, searchin’ around, I found its eggs. They put life into me, and I steadied up—but what’s all this I’m telling you about? There’s work to be done, and if you don’t stir ’twill be sun-down and too dark. As for me, I’m going to boil the kettle.”
“But you’ve not finished telling about the spooring.”
“Ah, well, it can wait, sonny; but it’s time the kettle were put on and the mealies roasted.”
Chapter Twenty One.
The Boom of the Drum.
“Oh, ghoisters!” said Abe, “there’s the blamed bung come outer the vaitje and not a drop of Dop left, and all the buchu collected for the soaking.”
“Do you soak the buchu in brandy?”