Things went on very peacefully and on the whole prosperously at the farm after Mr. Halliday's departure. He sent Coja back from Nairobi with a letter in which he wrote that Mr. Gillespie had advised him to return to England, and had promised to pay John a visit if he found time. The rains began soon after Mr. Halliday had gone, and John was mortified when a few of the sheep died through catching a chill; but apart from this misfortune nothing happened to trouble him. He had no difficulties with the people under his authority. Coja proved to be a handy man; Wasama and his son were excellent herdsmen; and Lulu not only did a fair share of labour in the fields with the villagers, but excelled in laundry work, and looked after John's simple wardrobe with a neatness and care which would have put many a London landlady to the blush. As for Said Mohammed, he was a compendium of utilities. He was cook, khansaman, and table-servant rolled into one. He was careful to explain that in India he would scorn to serve in more than one capacity, but "Tempora mutantur," he quoted impressively, "et nos mutamur in illis."
"Rest, sir, is change of occupation," he said, "and when I have accomplished the culinary part of my functions, I make a lightning change and become a dumb waiter, remembering the beautiful words of the blind epic poet, 'They also serve who only stand and wait.'"
With the beginning of the rains came the season for planting. Mr. Halliday had brought a variety of seeds with him, for though he hoped to make money out of stock-raising rather than agriculture, and reckoned on getting cereals from the neighbouring village for his native and Indian workers, he was not sure that the villagers would always grow enough to supply their needs, and he wished also to grow English vegetables and fruits for his own consumption. John made a start towards the end of November with oats and wheat; next month he sowed cabbages, peas, tomatoes, potatoes and vegetable marrows, and planted a few apple-tree slips. In January he put in cabbages and onions, and finished off with cauliflowers in February. The great dread of the African cultivator is drought, but the rains fell almost continuously for three months, so that there was every prospect of good crops.
The sheep and cattle throve apace. There was no sign of scab or heartwater in the former, but they were troubled for a time by the nostril-fly, a pest that lays its eggs in the nasal passages, causing intense irritation and sometimes a dangerous fever. Two or three of the animals died, but there happening to be a syringe among the things brought from Nairobi, John made a point every night of thoroughly washing out the nostrils of the sheep affected, and had the satisfaction of preventing any more deaths from this cause, though he never succeeded in banishing the pests. He felt not a little gratified at pulling one of the bulls through an attack of pneumonia. After a little trouble in inducing the two Masai and Lulu to be scrupulous in washing their hands, he managed to get the dairy into working order. Each cow yielded about four pounds of milk a day, some of which he turned into butter, which his people consumed in enormous quantities. All the spare milk over and above what was used for food was utilized for making cheese, which was stored in a deep pit until it could be transported to market at Nairobi.
Being dissatisfied with the grass huts which had originally been erected by the natives, he set the mistris to build substantial houses of logs and thatch, and found them both cleaner and healthier. They cost no more than £1 apiece. He also got them to put up a plant-house with wickerwork sides and thatched roof at a cost of £5. Finding that the villagers possessed fowls, he bought a number, and this provided more work for the carpenters. They built a large hen-house of wood with an iron roof, and fenced in a run of about 1000 square feet in area. With the prospect of good crops a barn was necessary, and they erected a wooden building with a floor of about 300 square feet. Having no iron left, he had to roof this with thatch, resolving to buy more galvanized roofing on his first visit to Nairobi.
Before all this work was finished some of the vegetables and cereals he had planted grew to maturity. Said Mohammed gave him turnips for dinner in February; next month he had some fine tomatoes and potatoes, and by the beginning of April the most delicious peas and vegetable marrows he had ever tasted. The grain fields, however, suffered a good deal from the depredations of weaver birds, and after ineffectual attempts to get rid of these with his rifle and by setting up scarecrows, John resorted to a poison supplied by his native neighbours--a decoction of a certain root. This proved effective. The wheat was ready for reaping in April, and he was amused to see the natives cut it with knives, they being quite unable to handle the scythes Mr. Halliday had brought. They threshed it with sticks and winnowed it with hand-sieves. There was a small hand-mill among the farm utensils, and by the end of April John enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of eating bread baked by Said Mohammed in an earthen oven. Only half an acre had been sown with wheat, and as the yield was 400 lbs. of grain John was thoroughly satisfied. The oats were not ripe until July, and the yield was much less than that of the wheat; but they made good porridge, and John was able to write to his father that when he returned he could have the national breakfast.
John had heard from Mr. Halliday several times since his departure. The first letter arrived early in December, and caused him mingled amusement and vexation.
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"Here I am, in Glasgow, flourishing as ever. Tennant's stack is behaving even worse than usual, and the atmosphere makes me fair sick after the air of Kenya. I had a horrible passage: we were terribly knocked about in the Bay, and I got a black eye one night through being pitched out of my bunk and coming into collision with the ledge of the one below. There was a teetotal commercial on board (rare bird), who looked at me very suspiciously at breakfast, and asked me at lunch whether I drank pot-still or patent. I asked him which was his line, and he got so red that I was uncharitable enough to conjecture he drinks on the sly.
"But here I am, and I think I've made a fool of myself in coming; for when I called at Wright and MacKellar's they showed me a cable they had just received from the Cape. 'Halliday's daughter inherits; letter this mail.' The death of poor old uncle had of course been announced in the Herald, and that goes everywhere, and sure enough when the mail came in there was a letter from some lawyer fellows at Cape Town to say that their client, Mrs. Burtenshaw, née Sylvia Halliday, having seen the announcement of her father's death, had made arrangements to return to Scotland to claim the estate I asked them why the ballachulish they hadn't waited before they sent for me, and Wright said that if he had been aware that I had changed my domicile (law for left the country, I suppose) he would certainly have hesitated before putting me to the inconvenience (and expense, I put in) of making so long a voyage. I asked whether my expenses would come out of the estate, and he said that he was inclined to believe the trustees would not homologate any claim for my outgoings. I'm glad you were not a lawyer, after all. I was for starting back at once, but he wouldn't hear of it: said I must wait to see whether Mrs. Burtenshaw could substantiate her claim; she might be an impostor, and since the estate is valued at over £100,000 it would be a pity to be out of the way if I turned out to be the heir after all. My cousin's name is Sylvia right enough, and I'm convinced the claimant will prove her bona-fides, but I suppose I must kick my heels until she turns up. It's twenty-five years or more since I saw her, and I shouldn't know her from Lulu, so I can't help to identify her. Altogether I'm very unhappy. Tell me how you're getting on. I am wearying until I get back, and on thorns in case anything goes wrong. God bless you!