“Ach! das is goot. How you vas, mein bube?”
“Here, I say,” cried Dyke, as the big German shook hands with him, “who are you calling a booby, Uncle Morgenstern?”
“Hey? You vas bube. Not gall yourself mans, long time ago to gom. Bube ist poy, goot poy. Zo you gom vrom Kopfontein all py youzelf to puy mealies and dea, and goffee and sugars?”
“Well, not quite all alone; I’ve got our Kaffir with me.”
“Ach! ten: why you not make him drive die pullock? Lazy tog!”
“He’s in the wagon, bad. I’ve had to drive the bullocks, and inspan and outspan all by myself.”
“Ach! wonterful! All py youself. Goot poy. Ant you are hot, und sehr dursty.”
“Oh yes, horribly thirsty.”
“Goot! Die Frau shall make you zom of mein beaudiful goffees. Das is good vor dursdy.—Hi!” he shouted; and a couple of Kaffir boys came from behind a rough shed, to whom he gave instructions to outspan the oxen and drive them to the abundant pasture by the river side.