Part 19 (1/2)
CHAPTER FIVE.
AN EPISODE IN SIEVER'S KLOOF.
The days sped by and still Hilary Blachland remained as a guest at George Bayfield's farm.
He had talked about moving on, but the suggestion had been met by a frank stare of astonishment on the part of his host.
”Where's your hurry, man?” had replied the latter. ”Why, you've only just come.”
”Only just come! You don't seem to be aware, Bayfield, that I've been here nearly four weeks.”
”No, I'm not. But what then? What if it's four or fourteen or forty?
You don't want to go up-country again just yet. By the way, though, it must be mighty slow here.”
”Now, Bayfield, I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings, but you're talking bosh, rank bosh. I don't believe you know it, though. Slow indeed!”
”Perhaps Mr Blachland's tired of us, father,” said Lyn demurely, but with a spice of mischief.
”Well, you know, you yourselves can have too much of a not very good thing,” protested Hilary, rather lamely.
”Ha-ha! Now we'll turn the tables. Who's talking bosh this time?” said Bayfield triumphantly.
”Man, Mr Blachland, you mustn't go yet,” cut in small Fred excitedly.
”Stop and shoot some more bushbucks.”
”Very well, Fred. No one can afford to run clean counter to public opinion. So that settles it,” replied Blachland gaily.
”That's all right,” said Bayfield. ”And we haven't taken him over to Earle's yet. I know what we'll do. We'll send and let Earle know we are all coming over for a couple of nights, and he must get up a shoot in between. Then we'll show him the pretty widow.”
A splutter from Fred greeted the words. ”She isn't pretty a bit,” he p.r.o.nounced. ”A black, ugly thing.”
”Look out, sonny,” laughed his father. ”She'll take it out of you when she's your schoolmissis.”
But the warning was received by the imp with a half growl, half jeer.
The prospect of that ultimate fate, which had already been dangled over him, and which he only half realised, may have helped to prejudice him against one whom he could not but regard as otherwise than his natural enemy.
The unanimity wherewith the household of three voted against his departure was more than gratifying to Hilary Blachland. Looking back upon life since he had been Bayfield's guest, he could only declare to himself that it was wholly delightful. The said Bayfield, with his unruffled, take-us-as-you-find-us way of looking at things--well, the more he saw of the man the more he liked him, and the two were on the most easy terms of friends.h.i.+p of all, which may best be defined that neither ever wanted the other to do anything the other didn't want to.
Even the small boy regarded him as an acquisition, while Lyn--well, the frank, friendly, untrammelled intercourse between them const.i.tuted, he was forced to admit to himself, the brightness and suns.h.i.+ne of the pleasant, reposeful days which were now his. He had no reason to rate himself too highly, even in his own estimation, and the last three or four weeks spent in her daily society brought this more and more home to him. Well, whatever he had sown, whatever he might reap, in short, whatever might or might not be in store for him, he was the better now, would be to the end of his days, the better for having known her.
Indeed it seemed to him now as though his life were divided into two complete periods--the time before he had known Lyn Bayfield, and subsequently.
Thus reflecting, he was pacing the stoep smoking an after-breakfast pipe. The valley stretched away, radiant in the morning suns.h.i.+ne, and the atmosphere was sharp and brisk with a delicious exhilaration. Down in the camps he could see the black dots moving, where great ostriches stalked, and every now and then the triple boom, several times repeated, from the throat of one or other of the huge birds, rolled out upon the morning air. The song of a Kaffir herd, weird, full-throated, but melodious, arose from the further hillside, where a large flock of Angora goats was streaming forth to its grazing ground.
”What would you like to do to-day, Blachland?” said his host, joining him. ”I've got to ride over to Theunis Nel's about some stock, but it means the best part of the day there, so I don't like suggesting your coming along. They're the most infernal boring crowd, and you'd wish yourself dead.”
Hilary thought this would very likely be the case, but before he could reply there came an interruption--an interruption which issued from a side door somewhere in the neighbourhood of the kitchen, for they were standing at the end of the stoep, an interruption wearing an ample white ”kapje,” and with hands and wrists all powdery with flour, but utterly charming for all that.
”What's that you're plotting, father? No, you're not to take Mr Blachland over to any tiresome Dutchman's. No wonder he talks about going away. Besides, I want to take him with me. I'm going to paint-- in Siever's Kloof, and Fred isn't enough of an escort.”