Diamond Dyke / The Lone Farm on the Veldt - Story of South African Adventure - George Manville Fenn

“This is cutting the last string, little un?”

The stalwart “little un” nodded his head gravely.

“Yes, old chap,” he said, “but the Kopfontein of the past is gone. It only lives in one’s memory now.”

They turned to look back—their wagon slowly crawling on in front, with the patient oxen, fat and sleek, following the black vorloper—homeward-bound; and as they sat in their saddles they could see the old German standing by the place with his wife, waving their hands, and Dyke almost fancied he could hear the old man saying, as he had said at parting:

“You are young und shdrong, und you haf die vorlt pefore you. Mein alt vomans und I are goming nearly do der endt. I do not zay dry und do goot mit vot you dake avay, vor I know you vill. Vonce more, mein sohns—goot-pye.”

Just then Duke gave a sharp bark, as if to say, “Come on!”

“Right, old dog,” cried Dyke. “Now, then, for home!”

The End.