"Thank you, Morena."
At sundown the cattle came in. The herdsman came up to the house to report that the two calves born whilst his master was away on his journey were heifers, and received a few shillings as a reward for his good management. When bull calves came the cattle herd made many excuses and neither expected nor received any reward.
"You have done well."
"Thank you, Morena," said the boy, tying the silver in a corner of his loin cloth. "What is the number of the day to-day?"
Now this was the fourth time the question had been asked. What did it mean? Could it mean anything of importance and, if so, what?
But the Commissioner decided in his own mind that his people had some trivial dispute and were appealing to him to settle a knotty point. Still, he felt a little curious as to what that point might be, but knowing natives well, concluded that he would hear about it all in good time.
He asked no question this time but replied simply: "The sixth."
The news of his return spread quickly and several officials dropped in for a "sundowner." Headquarters news, dull and trivial as it usually is, was quickly disposed of. The Browns had gone home on leave, Jones had just come back, and Robinson had passed the law exam very well. A lion had been heard outside the township, and a mad cur had run amok through the compounds and, as a result, several good dogs had been shot and half a dozen natives sent south for treatment.
What sport had the Commissioner had?
On the whole, bad; he had missed a black-maned lion in a patch of bush near the river, and as the beast slipped through to the main forest he didn't bother to follow. He had, however, bagged a small leopard and two full-grown cheetahs. There were plenty of birds and buck about and, oh, yes, he had killed a bad old buffalo bull who nearly turned the tables on him. After listening to the details of the adventure, the visitors rose to leave.