Thus the making of history rolled on; and, to the rage and indignation of the fighting-men, the order went forth that there was to be peace; that the troops were to be withdrawn, volunteers disbanded, and everything settled by diplomacy and treaty. I need not go into that matter; my father only shook his head and said that such an arrangement could never mean lasting peace. "I'm glad the fighting is over, my boys," father said to Denham, who was sharing our new temporary home. "Oh, Mr Moray," he replied, "how can you talk like that?" "Because I am a man of the ploughshare and not of the sword. I want to get back to my quiet farming life again, and that is impossible while war devastates the land." "But you'll never start a home again in the old place?" "Never," said my father--"never." "No," I said; "the Boers ruined you. They ought to be made to pay." "Not ruined, Val," said my father, "though the burning and destruction meant a serious loss; but I had not been idle all the years I was there, and I dare say we can soon raise a home in Natal, where we can be at peace. Nature is very kind out here in this sunny, fruitful land; and I dare say when Mr Denham comes to see us, as I hope he will often do in the future, we can make him as comfortable as in the past days when the farm was younger, and perhaps find him a little hunting and shooting within reach." "You'll come, Denham?" I said. "Come? Too much, I'm afraid. I'm to have no more soldiering, I hear. I've been corresponding with my people, and asking my father if it is possible for me to get into the regulars. He wrote back `No,' with three lines underneath, and said I must go back to stock-raising till my country wants me again to unsheath the sword." "Well," said my father, smiling, "what do you say to that?" "Nothing at all, sir," replied Denham, with a smile. "Somehow I always do what I'm told." "That's what makes him such a good soldier, father," I said, laughing. "Do you hear that, Bob?" said Denham. "You ought to take example from me. But, I say, can't we have the horses out for a run?" "Of course," said my father, "if you feel strong enough." "Oh, I'm strong enough now," replied Denham. "Nothing whatever's the matter, except that one leg gives way sometimes. Here, let's go and rouse up Joeboy. Will you come with us, Bob?" That question was unnecessary; and soon Joeboy the faithful and true had brought round Sandho, Denham's horse, and a fine young cob the black had captured on the night of the fight and given to my brother. The horses were all fresh and sprightly from want of work; and when the three were brought to the veranda of the farm which my father had leased for a time, Aunt Jenny--who had rejoined us, and was looking as if nothing had occurred--warned us to be careful, for the horses looked very fresh. We promised to be careful, and were off cantering towards the veldt, the horses soon making the dust fly beneath their hoofs in a wild gallop.