Blue Aloes | Page 8

it into a garden,
and make it blossom like the rose--shall we?"
"Yes, yes!" he cried eagerly. "'Blossom like the rose'--that comes out of
the Bible! I have heard daddy read it. But we must not talk about it to
mamma. It makes her too sad to come here, or even talk about it.
Mamma doesn't like sad things."
Suddenly, the strange quietude of the place was invaded by the sound
of voices. They were far-off voices, but both the girl and the child
started as though caught in some forbidden act, and instinctively took
hands. A moment later they were hurrying away from the lonely spot,
back by the way they had come. Half-way home they came upon
Richard Saltire and the squad of Kafirs who carried his implements and
liquids. Theirs were the voices that had been heard. Work had begun on
the territory so thickly sewn with prickly-pears that lay between farm
and cemetery.
Saltire, with sleeves rolled up, was operating with a syringe upon the
trunk of a giant bush, but he turned round to throw a smile to Roddy.
"Hello, Rod!"
"Hello, Dick!" was the blithe response. "Gr-r-r! You giving it to that
old bush?"
"Rather! He's getting it where the chicken got the ax. Like to have a go
at him?"
"Oh--oh--yes!"
Roddy delightedly grasped the syringe, and was instructed how to fill
and plunge it into the green, dropsical flesh of the plant. The Kafirs
stood looking on with grave, imperturbable faces. Christine sat down

on a rock and, from the rosy shadow of her parasol, observed the pair.
She was astonished at this revelation of intimacy. Saltire's satirical blue
eyes were full of warm affection as he looked at the boy, and Roddy's
manner toward him contained a loving familiarity and trust she had
never seen him exhibit to any one. It was interesting, too, to watch the
man's fine, capable hands manipulating his instruments and his quick
eye searching each bush to select a vulnerable spot for the virus of
death. His movements had the grace and energy of one whose every
muscle is trained by service and in perfect condition. Only men who
hail from cold climates retain this characteristic in Africa. Those born
in its disintegrating heats are usually overtaken in the early thirties by
physical weariness or, as some choose to call it, "slackness" that only
fine moral training can overcome.
He was good to look at, too, this man in spotless white clothes, the
blueness of his eyes throwing up the clear tan of his face, his burnished
hair lying close to his head. Christine thought rather sadly that the
presence on the farm of any one so sane and fearless-looking would
have been a great comfort to her, if only he had not been one of the
people whose ways troubled her most.
It was with difficulty that she at last got Roddy away, he was so
evidently under the forestry man's spell. Almost she felt that spell
herself when he began talking to her, looking deep into her eyes while
he explained his work; but suddenly it seemed to her that those blue
eyes were explaining something quite different, and, flushing furiously,
she made haste to take Roddy's hand and end the interview by walking
away.
There was considerable trouble during the afternoon with Rita and
Coral. If Christine turned her back for a moment, they flew out into the
sunshine, hatless, disporting themselves like baby ostriches.
Reproaches were received with trills of laughter, warnings of
punishment with trusting, happy eyes.
When, at last, Christine had them safely absorbed in a table-game, it
was to realize that Roddy had suddenly disappeared. Calling Meekie to
take charge of the little girls, she hastened, with beating heart, in search

of the boy. Instinct took her in the direction of the dam, and she caught
him up just as he had reached its brink. He looked at her brightly, no
sign of shamefacedness or sulkiness on him, but would give no further
explanation than that he "only wanted to peep in."
"But, Roddy, how could you be so disobedient, dear? And you
remember what your mother said this morning?"
"Yes, I remember; but I did not promise. If I had promised, I would not
have gone."
"Well, will you promise me, darling?"
But at that he broke away from her and ran toward the house, singing,
"Just a little peep-in--just a little peep-in."
She felt more than slightly dispirited. There were three bad nights
behind her, and the day had been particularly tiring. Though young and
energetic, and with an extraordinary sense of love and responsibility
toward these naughty, attractive children, she wondered, for a weary
moment, whether she could stand the racket. The work of governessing
was new to