Vrouw Grobelaar and Her Leading Cases

Perceval Gibbon
Grobelaar and Her Leading
Cases, by Perceval Gibbon

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Title: Vrouw Grobelaar and Her Leading Cases Seventeen Short Stories
Author: Perceval Gibbon
Release Date: January 14, 2007 [EBook #20355]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VROUW
GROBELAAR ***

Produced by Charles Klingman

VROUW GROBELAAR
AND HER LEADING CASES
SEVENTEEN SHORT STORIES

BY
PERCEVAL GIBBON
AUTHOR OF SOULS IN BONDAGE
NEW YORK McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. MCMVI
Copyright, 1906, by McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
Published, January, 1906
TO MY WIFE
CONTENTS
UNTO THE THIRD GENERATION
THE DREAM-FACE
THE AVENGER OF BLOOD
THE HANDS OF THE PITIFUL WOMAN
PIET NAUDE'S TREK
LIKE UNTO LIKE
COUNTING THE COLORS
THE KING OF THE BABOONS
MORDER DRIFT
A GOOD END
VASCO'S SWEETHEART
THE PERUVIAN

TAGALASH
THE HOME KRAAL
THE SACRIFICE
THE COWARD
HER OWN STORY

UNTO THE THIRD GENERATION
The Vrouw Grobelaar, you must know, is a lady of excellent standing,
as much by reason of family connections (for she was a Viljoen of the
older stock herself, and buried in her time three husbands of estimable
parentage) as of her wealth. Her farms extended from the Ringkop on
the one side to the Holgaatspruit on the other, which is more than a
day's ride; and her stock appears to be of that ideal species which does
not take rinderpest. Her Kafirs were born on the place, and will surely
die there, for though the old lady is firmly convinced that she rules
them with a rod of iron, the truth is she spoils them atrociously; and
were it not that there is an excellent headman to her kraals, the niggers
would soon grow pot-bellied in idleness.
The Vrouw Grobelaar is a lady who commands respect. Her face is a
portentous mask of solemnity, and her figure is spacious beyond the
average of Dutch ladies, so that certain chairs are tacitly conceded her
as a monopoly. The good Vrouw does not read or write, and having
never found a need in herself for these arts, is the least thing impatient
of those who practice them. The Psalms, however, she appears to know
by heart; also other portions of the Bible; and is capable of spitting
Scripture at you on the smallest provocation. Indeed she bubbles with
morality, and a mention of "the accursed thing" (which would appear to
be a genus and not a species, so many articles of human commerce
does it embrace) will set her effervescing with mingled blame and
exhortation. But if punishment should come in question, as when a
Kafir waylaid and slew a chicken of hers, she displays so prolific an

invention in excuses, so generous a partiality for mercy, that not the
most irate induna that ever laid down a law of his own could find a
pretext for using the stick.
She lives in her homestead with some half-dozen of nieces, a nephew
or two, and a litter of grandchildren, who know the old lady to the core,
cozen and blarney her as they please, and love her with a perfect
unanimity. I think she sometimes blames herself for her tyrannical
usage of these innocents, who nevertheless thrive remarkably on it.
You can hardly get on your horse at the door without maiming an
infant, and you can't throw a stone in any direction without killing a
marriageable damsel. They pervade the old place like an atmosphere;
the kraals ring with their voices, and the Kafirs spend lives of mingled
misery and delight at their irresponsible hands.
I do not think I need particularize in the matter of these youngsters,
save as regards Katje. Katje refuses to be ignored, and she was no more
to be overlooked than a tin- tack in the sole of your foot. She was the
only child of Vrouw Grobelaar's youngest brother, Barend Viljoen,
who died while lion-hunting in the Fever Country. At the time I am
thinking of Katje might have been eighteen. She was like a poppy
among the stubble, so delicate in her bodily fabric, and yet so opulent
in shape and coloring. She was the nicest child that ever gave a kiss for
the asking (you could kiss her as soon as look at her), but she was also
the very devil to deal with if she saw fit to take a distaste of you. I saw
her once smack a fathom of able- bodied youth on both sides of the
head with a lusty vigor that
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