Chapter Two.
Our Ugly Visitor.
The black fellow’s arrival at such a time was most welcome; but my father put no faith in his declaration.
“They’re all alike, Val,” he said. “He’s a quick worker, and as willing and good-tempered as a man can be; but he’ll only stay with us till he has earned wages enough to buy himself some bright-coloured blankets and handkerchiefs, and then he’ll be off back to his tribe.”
“Think so, father?” I said. “He seems to like us all here. He says it’s better than being with the Boers. He always says he means to stay.”
“He does mean it, of course,” said my father; “but these black fellows are like big children, and are easily led away by some new attraction. We shall wake up some morning and find him gone.”
But seven years glided away, during which apprenticeshiplike time Joeboy, as we called him—for he would not be content with Joe when he had heard the “boy” after it once or twice, “Joeboy” quite taking his fancy—worked for us constantly, and became the most useful of fellows upon our farm, ready to do anything and do it well, as his strength became tempered with education. In fact, it grew to be a favourite saying with my father, “I don’t know what we should have done without Joeboy.”
One of the first persons I saw that morning, when I trotted towards the house after being called by my brother, was the great black hurrying out to meet us; and as we got closer it was to see his face puckered up and his eyes flashing, as he said to me hoarsely:
“Won’t go, Boss Val; won’t go. You tell the Boss I’ve run up into the hills. Won’t go.”
“Here, what do you mean?” I said.