The German would have translated this information, but the Boer-woman gave no ear.

“No, no; he goes to-night. See how he looks at me — a poor, unprotected female! If he wrongs me, who is to do me right?” cried Tant’ Sannie.

“I think,” said the German in an undertone, “If you didn’t look at her quite so much it might be advisable. She — ah — she — might — imagine that you liked her too well — in fact — ah — — ”

“Certainly, my dear friend, certainly,” said the stranger, “I shall not look at her.”

Saying this, he tured his nose full upon a small Kaffir of two years old. That small naked son of Ham became instantly so terrified that he fled to his mother’s blanket for protection, howling horribly.

Upon this the new-comer fixed his eyes pensively on the stamp-block, folding his hands on the head of his cape. His boots were broken, but he still had the cane of a gentleman.

“You vaggabonds se Engelschman!” said Tant’ Sannie, looking straight at him.

This was a near approach to plain English; but the man contemplated the block abstractedly, wholly unconscious that any antagonism was being displayed toward him.

“You might not be a Scotchman or anything of that kind, might you?” suggested the German. “It is the English that she hates.”

“My dear friend,” said the stranger, “I am Irish every inch of me — father Irish, mother Irish. I’ve not a drop of English blood in my veins.”

“And you might not be married, might you?” persisted the German. “If you had a wife and children now? Dutch people do not like those who are not married.”

“Ah,” said the stranger, looking tenderly at the block, “I have a dear wife and three sweet little children — two lovely girls and a noble boy.”

This information having been conveyed to the Boer-woman, she, after some further conversation, appeared slightly mollified; but remained firm to her conviction that the man’s designs were evil.

“For, dear Lord!” she cried; “all Englishmen are ugly; but was there ever such a red-rag-nosed thing with broken boots and crooked eyes before? Take him to your room,” she cried to the German; “but all the sin he does I lay at your door.”

The German having told him how matters were arranged, the stranger made a profound bow to Tant’ Sannie, and followed his host, who led the way to his own little room.

“I thought she would come to her better self soon,” the German said, joyously. “Tant’ Sannie is not wholly bad, far from it, far.” Then seeing his companion cast a furtive glance at him, which he mistook for one of surprise, he added quickly, “Ah, yes, yes; we are all a primitive people here — not very lofty. We deal not in titles. Every one is Tanta and Oom — aunt and uncle. This may be my room,” he said, opening the door. “It is rough, the room is rough; not a palace — not quite. But it may be better than the fields, a little better!” he said, glancing round at his companion. “Come in, come in. There is something to eat — a mouthful: not the fare of emperors or kings; but we do not starve, not yet,” he said, rubbing his hands together and looking round with a pleased, half-nervous smile on his old face.