As he gazed across the high veldt for miles about, Petrus could almost see the outskirts of his uncle's vast farm of six thousand acres. First, beyond a few scattered red-brown kopjes, there was the blue pan--then, just beyond--through a small plantation of Scotch firs and poplars--he could see the plain little Dutch Reformed Church, which his uncle had re-roofed after the war. Still farther beyond was Johannesburg, the "Golden City," where he had been promised he might attend High School next winter. The thought thrilled him. How good his uncle had always been to him, he thought. There on the farm, with his uncle and Aunt Johanna, his grandfather and great-grandfather, he had lived ever since he could remember. His own dear father had been killed in the war. His mother had scarcely survived the hardships of the terrible time when their house and everything they owned had been burned to the ground by British soldiers. Then his kind Uncle Abraham--his mother's brother, who was an Elder in the Church--had welcomed them to his great place, "Weltefreden," the only home Petrus had ever known. There was a loud ringing of the school bell. It was the noon hour. Out the children rushed helter-skelter--the girls to their games of "Frott" or "touch-wood," Petrus and the boys to their cricket and Rugby football. "Oh, there's Uncle Abraham coming now!" exclaimed Petrus, with a start, as he saw a familiar pair of shaggy brown horses and a green cart rattling up to the schoolhouse door. Petrus ran to meet him. "I come to say I must take Petrus to the farm to-day. The locusts are on my corn-fields, and my head Kafir is gone," explained Mr. Joubert to the teacher. "But, Mr. Joubert, his inspection is coming off so soon," protested the teacher. "I think one day will make no difference," persisted the uncle. "Petrus must come." Further protest was useless. Petrus was allowed to climb quickly into his uncle's cart. Theunis would ride Ferus home. The horses dashed through the deep grass of the high veldt, taking the shortest route home. Petrus could already see a blackening cloud in the distance overcasting the sky. "Nothing will be left of my crops!--nothing!" excitedly exclaimed his uncle. "There is no time to be lost! Terrible swarms cover everything! My Kafirs are doing what they can, and your Aunt Johanna and some of the neighbors are holding a prayer-service for relief from the pests. We must be quick and add our prayers to theirs, else all will be lost!" "Yes, yes, Uncle!" agreed Petrus quickly, thinking of his well-worn Testament. "It is terrible! But God will surely send us relief from this pestilence."