Uncle Abraham shook his head gravely. They had reached the great farm. Bidding their friends adieu, Uncle Abraham and Petrus turned their attention to the locusts. They had settled themselves over the whole two miles of Uncle Abraham's tender, young mealie-fields in layers ten to twelve inches deep, and were busily mowing down the juicy stalks acre by acre. FOOTNOTES: [1] A flat-topped little hill. [2] The open grassy plains. [3] Unhitch. [4] "Step-by-Step." [5] "I don't know." [6] General Petrus Joubert went with Paul Kruger to England in 1878 to protest against the annexation of the Transvaal, and in 1880 joined with Kruger and Pretorius in proclaiming its independence. In the war that followed he commanded the army and won the famous victories of Laing's Neck and Majuba Hill. He was elected Vice-President in 1883, contested the presidency in 1888 and in 1899 took command of the army in Natal, defeating the British in several engagements and holding General White besieged for months at Ladysmith, despite General Buller's efforts at relief. He died at Pretoria, March, 1900. CHAPTER II AT "WELTEFREDEN" Spring had passed. It was sweltering hot by noonday in the Transvaal, for the midsummer days of December had come. Christmas, with its tennis, golf, and gay "cross-country" riding parties, was but a few short weeks off. Petrus had missed George's visits to "Weltefreden"[7] greatly. It was a long time since he had been there. At first the terrible scare from the Zulus had thrown him into a violent fever, from which he had not recovered for weeks. After that the lieutenant had kept him closely at home. Of course Petrus had visited him there. He had also often sent him over good things from the farm, by Mutla, his favorite Kafir. Now that George was better Petrus half hoped each day to see him at the farm. The Joubert household arose early mornings. Aunt Johanna always had breakfast by six. Then there was an hour's rest in the hottest part of the day, right after dinner. Petrus was the first one to be up and out enjoying the balmy morning air--watching the Kafir herders feeding the flocks, milking the cows, yoking the oxen, and driving the horses and sheep off to pasture. The vast farm, with its miles of waving grain and mealie-fields, and rolling pasture lands, was one of the best cultivated in all the Transvaal. It was a model farm. The original little "wattle-and-daub" cottage, with its windows half hidden under creepers, was gone. In it Petrus had been born. Many years ago it had been replaced by a more pretentious homestead. Uncle Abraham had prospered. His huge granaries were always well-filled, and his Kafir farm boys, at the kraals, just beyond the mealie-fields, numbered more than a hundred. It was their work to milk the cows, care for the beasts, and attend to the hardest work of the farm.