“Yes, tiddlum’s back,” said Chicory, applying honey to three or four places upon his arms. “Don’t mind.”
“No, don’t mind,” assented Coffee; and they filled their mouths full of honey and wax and cried, “Good, good, good.”
They had spent so long over the journey for the honey that evening was coming on fast as they began to ride slowly back, Dick and Jack making excursions here and there in search of something fresh as they crossed a bushy plain strewn with great masses of stone, which rendered their progress very slow, any attempt at a trot or canter being absolutely madness, unless they wished to lame their steeds.
“I wish we had got father’s glasses,” said Jack, “we might have seen something from this high ground.”
“I have got them,” said Dick, gazing through the binocular at the prospect of undulating plain, across which his father and the Zulu were making their way now, quite a mile in advance. “I’ve got them, but I can only see some quagga right over yonder.”
“I can see something close by,” cried Jack, pointing at a tall, dimly seen object that slowly passed out of a clump of bushes, and then went slowly forward into another.
“What can you see?” said Dick.
“Giraffe!” cried Jack.
“Nonsense! Where?”
“It just went into that clump of bushes there. Come on.”