John made no answer, but went on smoking his pipe in silence, wondering if Jess would be pleased. He did not understand her yet. She had gone away just as he was beginning to understand her.
Presently he observed Jantje sneaking about between the orange-trees as though he wished to call attention to himself. Had he not wanted to do so he would have moved from one to the other in such a way that nobody could have seen him. His partial and desultory appearances indicated that he was on view.
“Come out of those trees, you little rascal, and stop slipping about like a snake in a stone wall!” shouted John. “What is it you want—wages?”
Thus adjured, Jantje advanced and sat down on the path, as usual in the full glare of the sun.
“No, Baas,” he said, “it is not wages. They are not due yet.”
“What is it, then?”
“No, Baas, it is this. The Boers have declared war on the English Government, and they have eaten up the rooibaatjes at Bronker’s Spruit, near Middleburg. Joubert shot them all there the day before yesterday.”
“What!” shouted John, letting his pipe fall in his astonishment. “Stop, though, that must be a lie. You say near Middleburg, the day before yesterday: that would be December 20. When did you hear this?”
“At daybreak, Baas. A Basutu told me.”
“Then there is an end of it. The news could not have reached here in thirty-eight hours. What do you mean by coming to me with such a tale?”