It was on the afternoon of New Year's Day—the day of Magdalena's wedding—that they reached home. It was one of those bright midsummer afternoons for which the Transvaal is famous. From the windows and doors of "Weltefreden" soft lights glowed, and the merry strains of fiddles and an accordion reached the ears of Lieutenant Wortley, Petrus, and a happy little English boy sitting between them, as the big car whirred up to the old farmhouse stoop.
The long row of saddles against the red brick wall told of the large number of gayly decked riders who had already arrived—many of whom were standing in groups outside, shaking hands, drinking coffee and discussing Petrus' heroism, as they watched the unloading of Cape carts, wagonettes, spiders, horse and ox-wagons full of Dutch vrouws and children, whose bright dresses flashed gayly in the sunlight.
Every now and then the crack of a whip announced the arrival of Boer families of greater means, in conveyances ostentatiously drawn by four, six, or even eight horses, according to their wealth. The men-folks, in tight patent-leather oxfords, courteously helped their showily dressed vrouws and daughters to alight, while Hottentot nurses took care of the blond little girls in bright prints, and their little brothers in new mole-skins. Hercules had already arrived. He had hastened on by train, when the lieutenant had paused at Ladysmith to consult a doctor about George's lame foot.
"Oh, there's Aunt Kotie's motor!" exclaimed Petrus, as he and George bounded into the big house—Petrus straight into Aunt Johanna's outstretched arms, while George rushed to his Aunt Edith, who nearly smothered him with hugs and kisses.
"Petrus is home! Petrus is home!" flew from one to another until the whole gathering had heard the good news. All knew he had won the "reward," for Aunt Kotie had brought the latest Johannesburg paper giving the full account. All had been thrilled by the story of his daring rescue of George. Now that he was safely home again, every one present crowded about to shake hands with their young hero. Scarcely had the blushing boy recovered from this ovation when he found himself enveloped in the arms of the happy bride who, with Hercules, had just returned from the church.
Then Lieutenant Wortley spoke:
"As you all know, our brave Petrus has won the reward offered for George's rescue. The amount has been on deposit in gold in the National Bank of South Africa as advertised. Let me therefore take this opportunity of making good my promise—here before this gathering of his friends and relatives—by now writing out for Petrus an order on the National Bank of South Africa for the five hundred pounds he has so well won.
"Much as I rejoice at the finding of my own little boy, Petrus is the real hero, and I want to express the overwhelming sense of gratitude which both George and I feel towards this brave young lad.
"Petrus, there is no one we would rather have had win this reward than you—especially as it is to be the means of your some day coming to England to take your college course at Oxford with George.
"We return to England at once. My country needs my services at the front. But in the years to come there will never be a more welcome visitor at our old home in London than our daring little Boer friend from 'Weltefreden.'"