"She looked timidly at the tall Johannes who stood by her chair in silence.
"'I have forgotten what it was,' she answered with wet eyes.
"'No,' he cried, bending to her lips. 'No! It is a true charm that, my kleintje.'"
"Good old Tagalash!" remarked Katje cheerfully.
THE HOME KRAAL
After sunset on a summer's day, when evening has overcome the oppression of the still heat and breezes grow up like thoughts, the world of veld becomes odorous, and every air has its burden of unforgettable scents.
As we sat in the stoop, steeped in a flood of shadow, looking down over the kraals to where the grasses are ever green about the spruit, the Vrouw Grobelaar spoke gently.
"I should remember this," she said, "after a hundred years of heaven. The winds of Mooimeisjes would call me even then."
Katje's hand moved in mine.
"It is home," said Katje. "It—it makes me want to cry."