Three weeks’ long journey was yet before them, during which the oxen suffered much from the prevailing drought, but there was little of adventure upon the rest of their road; and it was with no little relief that the familiar land-marks in the neighbourhood of their home were at last made out, the oxen trekking well during the last few miles, as if they scented plenty of water and fresh green pasture at the farm.
The full moon was shining brightly as the waggon trekked up to the house, several friends having ridden out to welcome them, as soon as it was known that the hunters were in sight; and then once more, as soon as the dumb creatures were seen to, they sat down at a table to an old-fashioned English meat tea with their friends, glad to be able to recount that they had returned without a single loss, save that of the horses from the dreaded tsetse, while the prime object of their journey had been attained—Dick sat amongst them completely restored, and glowing with vigorous health.
“I should think, boys, you will be glad to sleep once more in a soft bed,” said Mr Rogers, smiling; but before either Dick or Jack could answer, Dinny presented himself at the door.
“Av ye plaze, sor—”
“Well, Dinny?”
“I’d thank ye to come and shpake to the naygurs. We’ve put up a bed and blankets for them in the best barn, and they won’t go there, but are making up a camp again, wid a fire, under the waggon.”
“Well, Dinny, if it pleases them, let them alone,” said Mr Rogers quietly.
“Shure, sor, I don’t mind,” said Dinny; “but it’s the naybours, sor, and what they’ll think.”
“Never mind what the neighbours think,” said his master. “Dick, go and see that the General and his boys have everything they want.”
“Av ye plaze, sor,” said Dinny, “I want to ax ye a favour.”