“She did? Bravo! well done, Tant! But look here, Joe: couldn’t I bring these cubs up?”
“Yes, for a time; but they would grow dangerous. Try.”
That night, after finding very little difficulty in getting the cubs to suck a couple of pieces of rag soaked in milk, Dyke dropped asleep, to dream that the lioness had come to life again, and was waiting at the door for her cubs; but it proved to be only Tanta Sal once more, just at daybreak, with a tin of the bird soup, which she had set to stew overnight, and woke up early to get ready for the baas. Of this Emson partook with avidity as soon as he woke, his brother laughing merrily as he fed him with a wooden spoon, while Tant grinned with delight.
“Jack say Baas Joe go die,” she cried, clapping her legs with her hands. “Jack tief.”
Dyke endorsed the words that morning when he visited the still unladen wagon, for a bag of sugar and some more meal had disappeared.
He stood rubbing his ear viciously.
“It’s my fault for not taking the things indoors,” he said in a vexed tone of voice; “but I can’t do everything, and feeding those cubs last night made me forget to set Duke to watch.”
Then a thought struck him, and he put his head outside the tilt and shouted for Tant, who came running up, and at once climbed into the wagon.
“Did you fetch some mealies from here last night?” asked Dyke.
“No: Jack,” cried the woman excitedly—“Jack tief.”