“Well, missus, a bit of bush, he jump up an' lick me in de eye.”
That bit of bush had licked him to such a tune that all the lower eyelid had been torn away, and the dismayed girl could only apply boracic ointment as something harmless, and recommend his going down to a doctor at once. But before he went he assured her solemnly that she had only to send for him for the future, and on that instant he would come up, and up till now he has kept his word. He is afraid some evil thing will happen to him if he does not shoe the Kempshot horses the moment they require his services.
All over the country are dotted little churches, mostly Baptist, but true it is as Huxley—was it not—once said, “Man makes God in his own image.” The damsel, the new housemaid making my bed on the verandah, feelingly remarked upon how cold I must be. It is pleasantly cool towards morning, that is the most that can be said for it, but the real truth came out when Sam was brought outside to share in the delights of the starlit night.
“Poor little baby,” sighed Leonie, “Oh, poor little baby. Missus not taking him outside?”
“Why not?”
“Oh, missus,” in shocked tones, “bad for baby.”
“But why?”
Long hesitation—and then out it came. “He small. Dey can kill him easy.”
It was very startling. “Who will kill him?” Much wriggling. She evidently didn't like to mention it, but she felt the case was desperate.
“Dem tings dat walk about at night.”