In the boom for gold farms, many a formerly struggling farmer has suddenly found himself a rich man, selling his farm, or one of his farms, for from £10,000 to £100,000 or more, and yet, amongst them all, I do not know of one of them that has given up his former simple mode of life and leads a retired easy life. They may build a larger, finer and more comfortable house, furnish it better, be more lavish in their hospitality, but their former occupation is never given up. Still they sow their lands, still they tend their flocks, still the season’s yield of wool is taken to town, and from the proceeds thereof the household requirements are provided. A progressive farmer will spend some of his thousands to improve his farms, his implements and his stock, but his occupation is kept, with few exceptions. Even members of the Government, who formerly farmed, keep their farms going, visiting them now and then, even though they could not attend to them themselves. Even so with the particular farmer we have been describing. His wealth increased his responsibilities and cares, but in nowise decreased his work. We have given this description of a farmer of the wealthier classes; we would give his name, but it would serve no purpose, it might only displease him, as he, in common with most of his race, dislikes publicity. Let it suffice that the description given is from life. CHAPTER XXII A TALK ON BEES Steve and his friends were received with the greatest cordiality; first, because Steve was known to the family and liked by them, and secondly, because hospitality is natural--in fact, seems born in a Boer. You will arrive at a farmhouse--poor or rich--you are one of the so-called hated nation--a _rooi nek_ (nickname given to Englishmen because their tender skin causes their necks to blister and turn red in the hot South African sun, literally meaning ‘red nek’)--unknown; at the door you meet a youngster just able to talk. You will dismount. This premature young man will come up to you with an air of--_playing the host_ about him, will take hold of your hand, give it a shake, and say,-- ‘Wil Oom nie afzaal nie?’ (Will uncle saddle off?) Yes you will. ‘Well, then, uncle can walk just right in and have a cup of coffee; I will see to the horse.’ Well, as I said, our young friends were well received, and soon found themselves seated around a supper table, as well laid and as well provisioned as man’s heart could desire in such a locality. Roast beef, stewed guinea-fowl, leg of venison, stuffed with bacon and baked vegetables, salads, etc., custard pudding, blanc mange, fresh butter, cheese, etc., washed down with coffee, and such coffee as only a _Tante_ knows how to brew, and that Java coffee too. After supper, the party adjourned to the sitting-room, where they were soon followed by the _Tante_, after she had seen to the servants getting their food, and the remnants of the supper had been safely put away.