Part 46 (1/2)
”It comes out of my very hand,” reiterated Jan, springing up; and fetching his whip, he gave three tremendous clacks with it, the signal to April, that could be heard a mile away in the still air, to bring back the oxen; and the baffled enemy picked up his lamb and retired from action.
Jan was jubilant, and cheerfully agreed to Mrs. Gilbert's suggestions as to the best camping-place for the night.
But I think his triumph was demoralising for him. As evening settled down and we were getting towards our resting-place, we pa.s.sed by a rare thing--a long wooden fence; and we soon saw that Jan and April were freely helping themselves to the dry wood, and stowing it at the sides of the wagon to save themselves the trouble of collecting any later.
”Jan,” called his mistress, ”you must not steal that wood. The man it belongs to told the Baas he lost so much that he should put somebody to watch, and have any one who was caught taken before Mr. Huntly.”
”April,” shouted Jan, laughing, ”look out for old Huntly. The Meeses says we must stop it.”
Later, when we had outspanned for the night, and they had broiled our sausages, and made the coffee with chuckling antic.i.p.ation of remainders, they made such a fire as scared Mrs. Gilbert, lest they should set the dry karoo around alight.
”Here, April, we must beat it down a bit. The Meeses is feared we shall set the moon afire,” laughed Jan, laying about him with a will, as the flames leaped heavenward.
The next morning he had to cross a river, and pay toll at the bridge.
Why Lang-Jan never objected to that, I do not know, but he came quite meekly for the money. His mistress had not the exact sum, and Jan was some time inside the toll-house, which was also a store.
On emerging, he shouted and whipped up his oxen, and off we lumbered.
When we came to a hill, and our pace was sufficiently slackened for speech, Mrs. Gilbert called to him, ”Jan, where is my change?”
”Oh, Meeses!” exclaimed Jan, quite unabashed; ”I took the change in tobacco!”
[Sidenote: Many girls long for an opportunity to ”do something.” That was Claudia's way. And, after all, there _was_ an opportunity. Where?]
Claudia's Place
BY
A. R. BUCKLAND
”What I feel,” said Claudia Haberton, sitting up with a movement of indignation, ”is the miserable lack of purpose in one's life.”
”Nothing to do?” said Mary Windsor.
”To do! Yes, of a kind; common, insignificant work about which it is impossible to feel any enthusiasm.”
”'The trivial round'?”
”Trivial enough. A thousand could do it as well or better than I can. I want more--to feel that I am in my place, and doing the very thing for which I am fitted.”
”Sure your liver is all right?”
”There you go; just like the others. One can't express a wish to be of more use in the world without people muttering about discontent, and telling you you are out of sorts.”
”Well, I had better go before I say worse.” And Mary went.
Perhaps it was as well; for Claudia's aspirations were so often expressed in terms like these that she began to bore her friends. One, in a moment of exasperation, had advised her to go out as a nursery governess. ”You would,” she said, ”have a wonderful opportunity of showing what is in you, and if you really succeed, you might make at least one mother happy.” But Claudia put the idea aside with scorn.
Another said it all came of being surrounded with comfort, and that if Claudia had been poorer, she would have been troubled with no such yearnings; the actual anxieties of life would have filled the vacuum.