Yes, it was hard work getting the stones, and we were busy enough one day in the hot sunshine, about a month after the wagon had been with the trees and stores, when Bob suddenly stood shading his eyes, and cried:
“Some one’s coming!”
We looked up, and there, far in the distance, I saw a black figure striding along under a great, broad matting-hat.
“Why, it looks like that great Kaffir, father,” I said.
“Nonsense, boy,” he replied; “the Kaffirs all look alike at a distance.”
“But it is, father,” I cried excitedly. “Look; he’s waving his big hat because he sees us.” I waved mine in answer; and directly after he began to run, coming up laughing merrily, and ending by throwing down three assagais and the bundle he carried, as he cried:
“Come back, boss.”
We gave him something to eat, and the next minute he was lifting and carrying stones, working like a slave; and at night he told me in his way that he was going to stop along with old boss and young boss and little boss and old gal, and never go away no more.