Chapter Twenty Five.
At Tante Ann’s.
It was growing dark before a suitable place presented itself, this being a typical Boer farm in a very desolate part of the veldt, the spot having been evidently chosen by its occupants on account of the tiny kopje and abundant supply of water welling out, besides being a perfect spot for the branch of farming the owner carried on, there being pen after pen of ostriches, the great foolish-looking large-eyed birds staring at the two horsemen wonderingly as they approached the door where the owner stood looking distant and glum, as he smoked his big pipe.
Yes, he said, he would sell them some provisions for themselves and corn for their horses if they had money to pay for what they wanted.
This was at once produced, and the farmer looked on after summoning a huge Kaffir to help with the horses and get out the corn; while his fat wife, after coming to the door to glare at the visitors, condescended to put on a kettle to prepare them tea, and see if there was a chicken that could be killed and broiled, and some eggs for frying.
There were several bits of consultation carried on by the husband and wife from time to time, and everything showed that the visitors were far from welcome.
“Never mind,” said Ingleborough; “all we want is a good meal, and we shall be off in the morning as soon as it is light.”
“That shed with the iron roof is to be our bedroom, I suppose?” said West.