Mother and father were at home when we reached Rietvlei, and were very glad to see me back. I was glad to again look out on the peaceful green fields of our wonderful farm, but keenly disappointed that I dared not give a true account of our adventures. It was some story for a small boy to have to bottle up! After supper my father sent for me, and I went to his office in the wing of the house which he used for administrative work. I had my doubts about the interview that I knew was about to take place, because my father has a way of getting the truth when he wants it. He is not known as "Slim Gert" for nothing. On the top of his desk lay a sjambok, or rawhide whip. It caught my eye and he saw me look at it. "Now, son, tell me about your trip," he said. "What did you see? What happened? Yesterday a Swazi came here and said that Buno had made a celebration for Tuys and you." As he asked the question his keen eyes searched my soul. I was in an awful pickle. If I told the truth, Tuys would be my enemy for life. If I lied to my father, he would never forgive me and I'd hate myself forever! The cruel whip did not enter into my calculations, because my father never struck us. It could not concern me. I hesitated for a moment only and then sacrificed my further chances of going with Oom Tuys to Swaziland. I told the truth. Father listened and seemed to be checking up what I said. He asked one or two questions which refreshed my memory, and I told him everything. "Thank you for so accurate an account, son," he said, when I had finished. "I wanted to be sure that what I had heard was so. Sibijaan was here a little while ago and--" He picked up the whip and tossed it into a drawer. Next day I saw Sibijaan. I asked him why he had told father about the killings at Lebombo. "Ou Baas holds the sjambok in his hand when he talks to me," he said quite simply. "He knew lots about Lebombo already. I'd sooner be killed by Oom Tuys some day than by your father now. I could not lie to Ou Baas." Neither could I, but nevertheless I upbraided Sibijaan for breaking the promise he had made to me that he would not tell about our trip. In fact, I consoled myself for losing my further chances of visiting Swaziland with Oom Tuys by giving Sibijaan a good beating. He could fight, but was not as strong as I, and the thrashing made no difference in our friendship. Of course the fight took place in private; it would never have done to let our impi know that we had fallen out for even a moment. Later I found out that father had received some pointed enquiries from the government in regard to Oom Tuys's activities in Swaziland. He wanted to know first hand, if possible, what the "White King of Swaziland" really did when he made his periodical trips to Buno's kraal. The information, however, was only for his own benefit, since he would not betray one of our people.