"Ha! you come. We have good fun then. But it's no longer good country. The English have driven out the king--broken up the people. Ha!" The first instalment of the broil was ready, and they fell upon it with a will, the while Anthony had raked up the fire and put on as much more of the birds as it would hold. "Cetchy, old chap, this is splendid," said Haviland gleefully, as with their pocket-knives they stripped the flesh from the bones, and devoured it with their healthy school appetites. "Why Nick himself can't get roast pheasant now for love or money, because it's out of season. Old brute! I'd like to give him a turn on that fire. Eh?" "Oh yes, make him wriggle on it like Umbelini make the Tonga prisoners I was goin' to tell about. They go work in diamond mines, come back through Umbelini's country with plenty money. They no tell where it is, hide it away. He burn them till they tell--most of them never tell; Umbelini burn 'em till they dead. One man tell. Ha!" The while Haviland had hardly noticed how the other had been allotting all the choicest bits to his share. "I say," he said at last, "I never thought you and I would be able to polish off a brace of cock-pheasants to our own cheek. Yet we jolly well nearly have." They had. The night air and their natural growing appetites had rendered the feat one of no great difficulty. But it was time to go back. The nights were nearly at their shortest. By two o'clock it would be almost daylight. So they started from their _alfresco_ kitchen and banqueting-room, and, concealing the air-gun and its ammunition, made their way back once more, and neglecting no precaution, shinned up the rope which had been left dangling, and were safe and sound within the dormitory again--the rope being carefully coiled away in Haviland's box--he about five minutes thereafter being fast asleep, and dreaming that he was plugging a huge cock-pheasant through and through with air-gun pellets, the riddled bird finally taking shape as the Doctor, to his own great and vengeful satisfaction. CHAPTER TWELVE. TYING KNOTS IN NICK'S TAIL. A change seemed now to have fallen upon Haviland. He was no longer to be met wandering alone, and the moody frown had left his brow, giving way to an expression of easy, light-hearted contentment. Yet there were days when he spent nearly the whole of his spare time lying in a corner of the playing fields, his cap over his face and--fast asleep. There was no fear of him sleeping too long, or being late for anything-- Mpukuza, otherwise Anthony, took care of that--and was always at hand to awake him in time.