"Well, of course: birds do pick up stones and things to fill their gizzards." "And that's just how I feel," said Dyke. "Eh? How?" "As if my gizzard was filled with sharp bits of stone, and it makes me irritable and cross." "And lazy. Come: jump up." "I can't, Joe. I said last time I'd never go after the goblin again, and I won't." "Yes, you will; you'll come and help me drive him in." "No: let him go." "Nonsense! He's the best cock bird I've got." "Then the others must be bad ones," grumbled Dyke. "Get up, sir!" cried Joe, stirring the boy with his toe. "Shan't. I don't mind your kicking." "Get up, or I'll duck you in the spring." "Wouldn't be such a coward, because you're big and strong. Hit one of your own size." "I declare I will," cried Joe, bending down and seizing the boy by the arm and waistband. "All right, do: it will be deliriously cool." Joe Emson rose up and took hold of his big beard. "Don't leave me everything to do, Dyke, old boy," he said appealingly. "I wouldn't lose that great ostrich for any money." Dyke muttered something about hating the old ostrich, but did not stir. "All right. I'll go alone," said Joe; and he turned away and walked swiftly back. But before he had gone a dozen yards Dyke had sprung up and overtaken him. "I'll come, Joe," he said; "but that old cock does make me so wild. I know he understands, and he does it on purpose to tease me. I wish you'd shoot him." "Can't afford the luxury, little un," said Joe, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Let's make our pile first." "Then the goblin will live for ever," sighed the boy, "for we shall never make any piles.--Where is he?" Joe shaded his eyes and looked right across the barren veldt, where the glare of the sun produced a hazy, shimmering effect. "There he is!" "Don't see anything." "Yes, you can. Your eyes are sharper than mine. There, just to the left of that rock." "What!--that one like a young kopje?" "Yes, just to the left." "What!--that speck? Oh! that can't be it." "Yes, it is; and if you had the glass, you could tell directly." "But it's so far, and oh dear, how hot it is!" "It will be cooler riding." "No, it won't," grumbled Dyke; "there'll be hot horses under you, then." "Yes, but cool air rushing by you. Come, old lad, don't sham idleness." "It isn't sham," said Dyke. "I don't think I used to be idle, but this hot sun has stewed all the spirit out of me." Joe said nothing, but led the way round to the back of the long low house, to where a high thick hedge of thorns shut in a lean-to shed thatched with mealie leaves and stalks; these, the dry remains of a load of Indian corn, being laid on heavily, so as to form a good shelter for the horses, haltered to a rough manger beneath.