They went to the first water, where the oxen were refreshed, a good six miles from Kopfontein, and then departed, the old man blessing them both in patriarchal manner, ending by kissing Dyke on each cheek.
“Dill we meed again, mein sohn,” he said, and the great team of oxen slowly moved away, guided by the two Kaffir boys.
Emson and Dyke sat watching the wagon for some time, but the old man did not look back, and as Dyke sat gazing, he said to himself:
“I suppose it is the German custom. It seems queer to me, but I don’t think I minded it so much just then.”
“What are you thinking about, little un?” said Emson huskily.
“That old Morgenstern must be a very good old man. I wish he wouldn’t kiss me, all the same, and make me laugh at his ways.”
“It is only at his words and looks, Dyke. God bless him! We neither of us smile at him in our hearts.”
The sun was setting as they walked their horses up toward the shabby-looking corrugated iron buildings; but now, in the evening light, everything seemed glorified, and they drew rein to look around, neither speaking for some time.
It was Dyke who broke the silence.
“You are tired out and done up, Joe,” he said. “Let’s get in, so that you can have some tea, and lie down and rest.”