the story of an african farm-第37章

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me　when　I　first　fell　on　it。　　You　must　not　expect　too　much；　but　it　may　give

you　a　centre　round　which　to　hang　your　ideas；　instead　of　letting　them　lie

about　in　a　confusion　that　makes　the　head　ache。　　We　of　this　generation　are

not　destined　to　eat　and　be　satisfied　as　our　fathers　were；　we　must　be

content　to　go　hungry。〃



He　smiled　his　automaton　smile；　and　rebuttoned　the　bag。　　Waldo　thrust　the

book　into　his　breast；　and　while　he　saddled　the　horse　the　stranger　made

inquiries　as　to　the　nature　of　the　road　and　the　distance　to　the　next　farm。



When　the　bags　were　fixed；　Waldo　took　up　his　wooden　post　and　began　to　fasten

it　on　to　the　saddle；　tying　it　with　the　little　blue　cotton　handkerchief　from

his　neck。　　The　stranger　looked　on　in　silence。　　When　it　was　done　the　boy

held　the　stirrup　for　him　to　mount。



〃What　is　your　name？〃　he　inquired；　ungloving　his　right　hand　when　he　was　in

the　saddle。



The　boy　replied：



〃Well；　I　trust　we　shall　meet　again　some　day；　sooner　or　later。〃



He　shook　hands　with　the　ungloved　hand；　then　drew　on　the　glove；　and　touched

his　horse；　and　rode　slowly　away。　　The　boy　stood　to　watch　him。



Once　when　the　stranger　had　gone　half　across　the　plain　he　looked　back。



〃Poor　devil；〃　he　said；　smiling　and　stroking　his　moustache。　　Then　he　looked

to　see　if　the　little　blue　handkerchief　were　still　safely　knotted。　　〃Poor

devil！〃



He　smiled；　and　then　he　sighed　wearily；　very　wearily。



And　Waldo　waited　till　the　moving　speck　had　disappeared　on　the　horizon；　then

he　stooped　and　kissed　passionately　a　hoof…mark　in　the　sand。　　Then　he　called

his　young　birds　together；　and　put　his　book　under　his　arm；　and　walked　home

along　the　stone　wall。　　There　was　a　rare　beauty　to　him　in　the　sunshine　that

evening。





Chapter　2。III。　　Gregory　Rose　Finds　His　Affinity。



The　new　man；　Gregory　Rose；　sat　at　the　door　of　his　dwelling；　his　arms

folded；　his　legs　crossed；　and　a　profound　melancholy　seeming　to　rest　over

his　soul。　　His　house　was　a　little　square　daub…and…wattle　building；　far　out

in　the　karoo；　two　miles　from　the　homestead。　　It　was　covered　outside　with　a

sombre　coating　of　brown　mud；　two　little　panes　being　let　into　the　walls　for

windows。　　Behind　it　were　the　sheep…kraals；　and　to　the　right　a　large　dam；

now　principally　containing　baked　mud。　　Far　off　the　little　kopje　concealed

the　homestead；　and　was　not　itself　an　object　conspicuous　enough　to　relieve

the　dreary　monotony　of　the　landscape。



Before　the　door　sat　Gregory　Rose　in　his　shirt…sleeves；　on　a　camp…stool；　and

ever　and　anon　he　sighed　deeply。　　There　was　that　in　his　countenance　for

which　even　his　depressing　circumstances　failed　to　account。　　Again　and　again

he　looked　at　the　little　kopje；　at　the　milk…pail　at　his　side；　and　at　the

brown　pony；　who　a　short　way　off　cropped　the　dry　bushesand　sighed。



Presently　he　rose　and　went　into　his　house。　　It　was　one　tiny　room；　the

whitewashed　walls　profusely　covered　with　prints　cut　from　the　〃Illustrated

London　News〃；　and　in　which　there　was　a　noticeable　preponderance　of　female

faces　and　figures。　　A　stretcher　filled　one　end　of　the　hut；　and　a　rack　for　a

gun　and　a　little　hanging　looking…glass　diversified　the　gable　opposite；

while　in　the　centre　stood　a　chair　and　table。　　All　was　scrupulously　neat　and

clean；　for　Gregory　kept　a　little　duster　folded　in　the　corner　of　his　table…

drawer；　just　as　he　had　seen　his　mother　do；　and　every　morning　before　he　went

out　he　said　his　prayers；　and　made　his　bed；　and　dusted　the　table　and　the

legs　of　the　chairs；　and　even　the　pictures　on　the　wall　and　the　gun…rack。



On　this　hot　afternoon　he　took　from　beneath　his　pillow　a　watch…bag　made　by

his　sister　Jemima；　and　took　out　the　watch。　　Only　half　past　four！　　With　a

suppressed　groan　he　dropped　it　back　and　sat　down　beside　the　table。　　Half…

past　four！　　Presently　he　roused　himself。　　He　would　write　to　his　sister

Jemima。　　He　always　wrote　to　her　when　he　was　miserable。　　She　was　his　safety…

valve。　　He　forgot　her　when　he　was　happy；　but　he　used　her　when　he　was

wretched。



He　took　out　ink　and　paper。　　There　was　a　family　crest　and　motto　on　the

latter；　for　the　Roses　since　coming　to　the　colony　had　discovered　that　they

were　of　distinguished　lineage。　　Old　Rose　himself；　an　honest　English　farmer；

knew　nothing　of　his　noble　descent；　but　his　wife　and　daughter　knew

especially　his　daughter。　　There　were　Roses　in　England　who　kept　a　park　and

dated　from　the　Conquest。　　So　the　colonial　〃Rose　Farm〃　became　〃Rose　Manor〃

in　remembrance　of　the　ancestral　domain；　and　the　claim　of　the　Roses　to　noble

blood　was　establishedin　their　own　minds　at　least。



Gregory　took　up　one　of　the　white；　crested　sheets；　but　on　deeper　reflection

he　determined　to　take　a　pink　one；　as　more　suitable　to　the　state　of　his

feelings。　　He　began：



〃Kopje　Alone；

〃Monday　afternoon。



〃My　Dear　Jemima〃



Then　he　looked　up　into　the　little　glass　opposite。　　It　was　a　youthful　face

reflected　there；　with　curling　brown　beard　and　hair；　but　in　the　dark　blue

eyes　there　was　a　look　of　languid　longing　that　touched　him。　　He　re…dipped

his　pen　and　wrote：



〃When　I　look　up　into　the　little　glass　that　hangs　opposite　me；　I　wonder　if

that　changed　and　sad　face〃



Here　he　sat　still　and　reflected。　　It　sounded　almost　as　if　he　might　be

conceited　or　unmanly　to　be　looking　at　his　own　face　in　the　glass。　　No；　that

would　not　do。　　So　he　looked　for　another　pink　sheet　and　began　again。



〃Kopje　Alone；

〃Monday　afternoon。



〃Dear　Sister；It　is　hardly　six　months　since　I　left　you　to　come　to　this

spot；　yet　could　you　now　see　me　I　know　what　you　would　say；　I　know　what

mother　would　say'Can　that　be　our　Gregthat　thing　with　the　strange　look

in　his　eyes？'



〃Yes；　Jemima；　it　is　your　Greg；　and　the　change　has　been　coming　over　me　ever

since　I　came　here；　but　it　is　greatest　since　yesterday。　　You　know　what

sorrows　I　have　passed　through；　Jemima；　how　unjustly　I　was　always　treated　at

school；　the　masters　keeping　me　back　and　calling　me　a　blockhead；　though；　as

they　themselves　allowed；　I　had　the　best　memory　of　any　boy　in　the　school；

and　could　repeat　whole　books　from　beginning　to　end。　　You　know　how　cruelly

father　always　used　me；　calling　me　a　noodle　and　a　milksop；　just　because　he

couldn't　understand　my　fine　nature。　　You　know　how　he　has　made　a　farmer　of

me　instead　of　a　minister；　as　I　ought　to　have　been；　you　know　it　all；　Jemima；

and　how　I　have　borne　it　all；　not　as　a　woman；　who　whines　for　every　touch；

but　as　a　man　shouldin　silence。



〃But　there　are　things；　there　is　a　thing；　which　the　soul　longs　to　pour　forth

into　a　kindred　ear。



〃Dear　sister；　have　you　ever　known　what　it　is　to　keep　wanting　and　wanting

and　wanting　to　kiss　some　one's　mouth；　and　you　may　not；　to　touch　some　one's

hand；　and　you　cannot？　　I　am　in　love；　Jemima。



〃The　old　Dutchwoman　from　whom　I　hire　this　place　has　a　little　stepdaughter；

and　her　name　begins　with　'E'。



〃She　is　English。　　I　do　not　know　how　her　father　came　to　marry　a　Boer…woman。

It　makes　me　feel　so　strange　to　put　down　that　letter；　that　I　can　hardly　go

on　writing　'E'。　　I've　loved　her　ever　since　I　came　here。　　For　weeks　I　have

not　been　able　to　eat　or　drink；　my　very　tobacco　when　I　smoke　has　no　taste；

and　I　can　remain　for　no　more　than　five　minutes　in　one　place；　and　sometimes

feel　as　though　I　were　really　going　mad。



〃Every　evening　I　go　there　to　fetch　my　milk。　　Yesterday　she　gave　me　some

coffee。　　The　spoon　fell　on　the　ground。　　She　picked　it　up；　when　she　gave　it

me　her　finger　touched　mine。　　Jemima；　I　do　not　know　if　I　fancied　itI

shivered　hot；　and　she　shivered　too！　　I　thought；　'It　is　all　right；　she　will

be　mine；　she　loves　me！'　　Just　then；　Jemima；　in　came　a　fellow；　a　great；

coarse　fellow；　a　Germana　ridiculous　fellow；　with　curls　right　down　to　his

shoulders；　it　makes　one　sick　to　look　at　him。　　He's　only　a　servant　of　the

Boer…woman's；　and　a　low；　vulgar；　uneducated　thing；　that's　never　been　to

boarding…school　in　his　life。　　He　had　been　to　the　next　farm　seeking　sheep。　

When　he　came　in　she　said；　'Good　evening；　Waldo。　　Have　some　coffee！'　AND　SHE

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