“Zo? Das ist sehr, very bad. You had petter zell mealie und gorn, und dea und sugars. It ist mooch petters as neffer vas, and you not haf to gom five, zigs, zeven days to me. Now let us zee den Kaffirs.”
The old man had approached the back of the wagon as he spoke, and now drew the canvas aside, to be greeted by a low growl which made him start back.
“Tunder!” he cried. “Der Kaffir tog is gone mad!”
“No, no; that is our dog Duke.”
“Ah! Und is he pad too?”
“Yes: a leopard came and seized him one night and carried him off from under the wagon; but I ran out and fired, and I suppose I hit the beast, for there was a lot of snarling and Duke got away; but I thought he would have died.”
“Ach! boor togs den. What you do to him?”
“Bathed the places with water.”
“Goot!”
“And he licked the wounds himself.”