Old Morgenstern had his own way, sitting about in different parts of the farm where there were suitable resting-places, and longest in the chasm of the granite by the water spring in the kopje.
“So dis vas a vavoride blace of yours, eh, bube?” he said, as he sat and smoked in the shade.
“Yes; it is so nice, and moist, and cool.”
“Ja, zo. You are nod a shtupid poy at all. Bood look here, dot vos a goot tinner: und I enshoy him mooch pecause I shall nod ged anoder dill I go pack to mein old vomans. Now I do nod dink you and der pig bruder vill shdop ferry long at Kopfontein. You will go pack to Angleland.”
“Oh yes, some day, of course,” said Dyke.
“Ja, zo. When you haf vound blenty of shdones. When you go pack, you vill nod dake dot voman?”
“Oh no! Poor old Tanta Sal; we shall be sorry to leave her behind.”
“Den you do nod go to leave her pehind. You shall gom py me to go home.—Ah, heim! mein vaterland! I zhall neffer go pack to her, bube: I am doo alt und dick. I shall go vrom here do der great vaterland—do Himmel, I hope. Bood you shall bring Tanta Sal to alt Oom Morgenstern. My alt vomans shall pe fery goot to her, und she shall gook tinners, und help. Bood she vill haf to vear more glothes. Mein alt voman vill nod led her go apout like dot.”
The next morning that plan regarding Tanta Sal’s future was ratified, subject to the woman’s agreement, and Emson thought that as they would go very slowly, he might be able to sit upon his horse, and ride with old Morgenstern for a few miles on his long round.
The old man beamed with satisfaction, and Emson and Dyke mounted, and walked their horses, one on each side of the wagon-box, where the old fellow sat holding his big whip.