Mabiliana was really distressed at being urged to tell a fairy-story by daylight. To do so--according to all Kafir traditions--was to invoke the wrath of a wicked spirit. Many a beauty had been known to become as hideous as an "Imbula," or ogre, after that. But rather than refuse the children, many of whom she loved dearly, Mabiliana decided to tell the story, then she asked for a piece of glass. Tucking this quickly into her hair, to ward off the evil, she combed her woolly locks over it, using the long mimosa thorn which she carried stuck through her ear. Then carefully replacing the thorn, and, taking a pinch of snuff, she began her story. The children listened in breathless, big-eyed silence. Spellbound they held their breath as the story reached the terrible moment when the "Mollmeit" appeared--the monster "who killed and ate little girls, and--" Outside the loud sound of approaching hoof-beats stopping at the kraal startled the boys. "Oh, it's daddy come for me!" whispered conscience-stricken George to Petrus, as he burst from the kraal into the inky blackness outside, calling: "Daddy! Where are you?" Petrus dashed after him. He heard one terrified shriek, followed by the thud, thud, thud, of a galloping horse's hoofs--growing fainter and fainter, then silence, but for the loud cackling and barking of the hens and dogs. "George! Where are you? George! George!" frantically called Petrus, peering through the inky darkness in every direction. Only the commotion among the fowls and dogs broke the dead silence. "George! George!" louder called Petrus, in despair. There came no answer. Petrus looked about for the ponies. There they were both quietly standing just where he had left them. Shobo--the Bushboy--rushed up. "Cluck, cluck, click, click--nhlpr--nh!" he cried out, gesticulating wildly to Petrus, and pointing far off to the west. "Oh, my master! My master!" cried Mutla, galloping breathlessly up. "The Zulu! The Zulu! He got Master George!" Petrus' foot struck against something hard. He shuddered. There lay a six-foot long, iron-tipped assegai. One just like it fell into the flying cart that day. He had it yet. The horrible truth came home to him--_George was gone!_ "Quick, Ferus!" cried Petrus, springing into the saddle with the assegai under one arm. Ferus shot over the ground at a slashing pace. Soon his master was within sight of Lieutenant Wortley's home. The soft glow of evening lights came from the windows. From one there came the sparkle of many little candlelights. They were on a tree. Petrus could see George's Aunt Edith carefully arranging the presents for the evening party--George's party. They reached the door. Petrus sprang from Ferus and dashed up the steps, crying-- "Oh, Lieutenant Wortley! George is gone!" FOOTNOTES: [15] Payment in cattle, without which no Kafir marriage was legal. CHAPTER VIII A STORM ON THE DRAKENSBERG