Spring had passed. It was sweltering hot by noonday in the Transvaal, for the midsummer days of December had come. Christmas, with its tennis, golf, and gay "cross-country" riding parties, was but a few short weeks off. Petrus had missed George's visits to "Weltefreden"[7] greatly. It was a long time since he had been there.

At first the terrible scare from the Zulus had thrown him into a violent fever, from which he had not recovered for weeks. After that the lieutenant had kept him closely at home. Of course Petrus had visited him there. He had also often sent him over good things from the farm, by Mutla, his favorite Kafir. Now that George was better Petrus half hoped each day to see him at the farm.

The Joubert household arose early mornings. Aunt Johanna always had breakfast by six. Then there was an hour's rest in the hottest part of the day, right after dinner. Petrus was the first one to be up and out enjoying the balmy morning air—watching the Kafir herders feeding the flocks, milking the cows, yoking the oxen, and driving the horses and sheep off to pasture. The vast farm, with its miles of waving grain and mealie-fields, and rolling pasture lands, was one of the best cultivated in all the Transvaal. It was a model farm.

The original little "wattle-and-daub" cottage, with its windows half hidden under creepers, was gone. In it Petrus had been born. Many years ago it had been replaced by a more pretentious homestead. Uncle Abraham had prospered. His huge granaries were always well-filled, and his Kafir farm boys, at the kraals, just beyond the mealie-fields, numbered more than a hundred. It was their work to milk the cows, care for the beasts, and attend to the hardest work of the farm.

Every morning, after breakfast, Uncle Abraham assembled the whole family for prayers, which Grandfather Joubert read with a simple impressiveness. Then a hymn was sung, and the family separated to take up their various tasks for the day.

It was Petrus' especial duty to mend all the broken-down wagons, make the halters and head-stalls for the ponies and horses, and, when hippopotamus hide could be procured, to cut and make the long lashes for the ox-whips. These were usually twenty-five feet long. Sometimes Mutla,[8] his favorite Kafir, could find time to help him.

So, the first thing after breakfast, Petrus busied himself steeping bullock's hide in water. Uncle Abraham had told him that the Kafirs were needing more whip-cord and leather rope. Then Petrus took it from the water, cut it into narrow strips about ten feet long, greased and bound it together into one long piece, after which he took it out and hung it from a high tree-branch, first weighting the lower end with a heavy wagon-wheel. When it was thoroughly stretched he took it down, twisted all the grease and moisture out of it, scraped it until it became supple, and then put it away for every kind of use on the farm.

It was still early, so Petrus got out some large pieces of untanned leather. In the art of making "veldt-schoens" Petrus was an expert. He knew just how to cut and make them as soft, comfortable and silent as Indian moccasins. Many a pair had his uncle and grandfather worn on successful bush-shooting expeditions, where silence and quietness were so essential. From Yettie's and Theunis' little feet up to grandfather's big ones he could fit them all. The whole family really preferred them to the shiny black boots purchased from the trader, which they always felt obliged to wear on high days and holidays—such as their semi-annual trips to the Johannesburg "Nachtmaals." On such important occasions the girls thought the trader's black ones looked more appropriate, with their full bright print skirts and "kappies"—or polk bonnets—which they always wore with heavy veils, to protect their complexions from the hot rays of the African sun.

Meantime Aunt Johanna was directing the Hottentot girls in their task of making the family soap and candles, while Magdalena and her little sisters were out in the kitchen having a great time cooking delicious "Candy-Lakkers." They were expecting company.

By ten o'clock all work was stopped. Every one was tired. So the men's pipes were brought out, with sweet cakes and hot coffee for all. The Boers are such great coffee-drinkers that Aunt Johanna already had plenty of it ready. She kept it hot on her little charcoal stove all day, and served it morning, noon, and night to her family, and often between times, to passing friends.

Unlike Uncle Abraham, who was a typical, tall, spare and straight Boer, with a long beard and grave but kindly face, Aunt Johanna was fair, plump and handsome. She was one of those affectionate, massive, large-hearted Dutch vrouws who are never quite so happy as when entertaining visitors. She loved to bestow upon her friends the best of everything, until "Weltefreden," which sheltered four generations under its broad roof, became known far and wide for its cordial hospitality.

George and his father were among those who called at almost any time. Sometimes the lieutenant came by himself. No one was more welcome. He came often to inquire of Uncle Abraham concerning the work of the skilled inspectors sent out by the "Imperial Land Association" with seeds, implements, and much good advice.

From his room-window, up under the hot galvanized iron roof, Petrus could see through the trees in the distance, the little dorp[9] railroad station, where the trains came puffing in twice a day with the mail. He could hear their whistles as they started out again on their way north to Johannesburg—sometimes bearing thousands of pounds of Marino wool from his uncle's fine flocks to be sold in Johannesburg's great "Market Square" during "Nachtmaal" time, when great crowds of worshipers would be there to exchange their own market produce as well.

Petrus gazed long and silently from his window. His thoughts were following the receding train as it flew on its way to the "Golden City," where his Aunt Kotie lived. His face brightened. "In three more years that train will speed on its way from the Cape to Cairo in Egypt! That is over six thousand miles—but I must plan to go! I must save up a great deal of money for such a wonderful trip! Oh, if only I can do it! In three years I shall just be through High School in Johannesburg," thought Petrus joyfully to himself. "But I shall miss seeing George all that time!" This regret was genuine, for Petrus had grown very fond of his little English comrade, who, although nearly the same age, was a full head shorter.

A Cape cart came spinning along the road towards the house. Petrus' dog Hector was barking loudly.

"Oh, there they come now!" exclaimed Petrus. His eyes sparkled as he sprang to the door to give them welcome. But Magdalena had reached the door first and was waiting out on the stoop, where the Englishman's cart had already stopped, and Mutla was busy in-spanning their horses. Petrus and his sister led the way into the house where Aunt Johanna greeted them. She had invited them for dinner. Everybody was glad to see them. Even "Katrina," the large pet baboon, fastened at one side of the entrance, barked a loud "hello" as George passed, and a dear little playful gray monkey on the other side, chattered a friendly greeting as George stopped to give it a pat.

In the central room, which served as drawing-room, music-room and study, the family had gathered to receive their guests. They were seated around in a circle—the women and girls being gorgeously arrayed in pink or green full skirts, tight waists and pearl necklaces. As the lieutenant and George went the rounds shaking hands in accordance with an old Boer custom, each greeted them heartily.

Uncle Abraham and Grandfather Joubert, who had been out in the fields all morning directing the Kafirs, came in hungry for their dinner and glad to see the Wortleys. It was noon-time and the time when the heavy midday meal in all Boer households is served. So Aunt Johanna led the way at once out to the clean, light dining-room, with its spotlessly white walls, where they took their places around the long, family table, standing silently, while Grandfather Joubert read a Psalm from the old, brass-bound Bible. Then Great-grandfather Joubert invoked the blessing with a long grace, to which everybody listened reverently with folded hands—even Petrus and George, who had been allowed places next to each other.

Before Vrouw Joubert the coffee-urn steamed invitingly. She always superintended, and often cooked these meals herself, to which ten or twelve persons usually sat down. As she poured the coffee, several hideous brown-faced Hottentot girls, in bright calico dresses with colored beads and ribbons, silently entered and stood ready to pass the plates. Magdalena served the excellently cooked mutton, vegetables, rice-pudding, fruit, with good wholesome bread just fresh from the oven. Then "konfyt"—a sort of crystallized fruit—was passed to the boys, to spread on their bread and butter.

Everybody ate silently for the most part, as is Boer custom. But Lieutenant Wortley complimented Vrouw Joubert on the excellence of her coffee, and added pleasantly: "Petrus must be getting to be quite a good young farmer-lad by this time, isn't he?"

"The best for his age in the Transvaal!" proudly asserted Uncle Abraham. "He is learning to use the cultivator, and becoming quite an expert at it, too. But I think Petrus likes sheep-farming best, don't you, Koos?"

"Yes, Uncle Abraham, sheep-farming is what I like best. There is no better grazing-lands in all South Africa than the Transvaal has, and I always feel so proud of our great loads of snow-white wool, every bag stamped with 'Weltefreden' in big letters on it, when we send it up for sale at 'Nachtmaal' time. When we go next week, am I not to stay a few days, and visit Aunt Kotie afterwards?"

"Yes, Koos, if you like. My Kafirs are already hard at work shearing the sheep. To-morrow the wool-washing down at the spruit[10] begins, with the drying and packing after that. Perhaps George would like you to take him down there after dinner to watch the Kafirs at their shearing for a while."

"Yes, thank you," quickly answered the lieutenant for his son. "And George is very curious to see what was left of the devastated mealie-fields since that awful day last spring, if Petrus will be good enough to show him."

"Yes, indeed," agreed Petrus. "I'll have Mutla bring the ponies right after dinner. But, oh, Lieutenant Wortley, I do wish George could go with us up to the Johannesburg 'Nachtmaal,' next week!"

"My dear Petrus, I think George prefers to remain with his father. He has never yet fully recovered from that terrible fright Dirk gave us all last spring," replied the lieutenant with a grave face. "George is truly homesick for England—for our old home in London, and to be with his Aunt Edith again. I am seriously considering disposing of my farm, and returning with my boy, yet not without some regret, for the Transvaal has a bright future."

"Oh, Lieutenant Wortley, please do not take George away! But if you do, and Uncle Abraham will let me, can't I go along to see London? I'd be back here in time for High School. I'll promise that."

Petrus had never seen the ocean, but George had often told him of the great breakers that dash on the rocks at Cape Town, and of the wonderful ocean voyage he had coming from England—of London with its great Westminster Abbey, and busy streets where no dark-hued Zulus went about terrifying everybody brandishing assegais. It had long been Petrus' dream to travel—not only from the "Cape to Cairo" when the new road was done—but to cross the ocean to London.

"Next week, Petrus, George is going with me to Cape Town. We will visit the Government House and see the sights. How would you like to go with us there, Koos?" affectionately replied the lieutenant, who was as fond of Petrus as any Britisher could be of the best of Boer boys.

"Great! I shall be delighted to go along! That will be a splendid trip, and my visit with Aunt Kotie will just be over then. Thank you so much, Lieutenant Wortley."

"It is very kind of you to invite Petrus, Lieutenant," assured Uncle Abraham. "He will have a fine time, and can join you and George at the end of his visit."

The Hottentot girls carried around a towel and basin of water. After each in turn had washed, all stood while Great-grandfather Joubert returned thanks for the food, then withdrew to the music-room to hear Aunt Johanna sing.

"Petrus, come, let's look through the 'far-seer'!" exclaimed George, picking up the telescope, and gazing through the window, towards the extensive orchard of standard peach-trees planted in long rows.

"Aim the 'far-seer' at the Kafir kraals, George. They are away beyond all those tall blue-gum trees—and beyond the mealie-fields, too. You've never seen the way Kafirs live, have you, George? I'll take you over there some day."

But George had turned the telescope onto the near-by trees and bushes, in whose branches and tops there seemed to be literally hundreds of cooing turtle-doves, and somber-hued, scarlet-billed finches, while far over the tops of the highest trees some hawks were silently circling about. Close by, in a pool of water, a number of shy little Hottentot ducks were happily floating around.

"They are different from our English birds," said George. "In England we have robin redbreasts, meadow-larks, swallows and orioles, but our birds do not have such brilliant feathers as these. Oh, I see Mutla with the ponies! Come on, Koos, now let's go!"

"Sh-o-o-o-o-h! Aunt Johanna is playing for us on the organ. She's going to sing. Come, listen!" protested Petrus under his breath. Petrus loved to hear his aunt and cousins sing Psalm-tunes with the organ. He could play many hymns fairly well himself.

While Aunt Johanna sang, Uncle Abraham and Grandfather Joubert got out some big cigars and smoked, as they listened, seated in large comfortable chairs. The girls sat as quiet as mice, applying themselves to their fancy-work and sewing.

Presently Magdalena was asked to play the Volkslied, or national anthem. All stood up and joined heartily in the singing. Petrus and George watched their chance. When Franzina and Yettie began some badly played mazurkas and dance-tunes of their own on the concertina, they quietly slipped out. In a twinkling they were off on their ponies, which Mutla had long had waiting for them at the stoop.