I settled these knotty points to my satisfaction, and off I trudged, with my field-glasses and, of course, my kodak, directing my steps towards the Dutch farm, with gleaming white walls, nestling under the kopje to the northeast. It was quite a snug little farm for South Africa, surrounded by blue gums and fruit trees. About a quarter of a mile from the farm I was met by the owner, Mr. Andreas Brink, a tame or surrendered Boer farmer, and his two sons, Piet and Gert. Such a nice man, too, with a pleasant face and long beard. He would insist on calling me "captain," and as any correction might have confused him, I did not think it worth while to make any, and after all I wasn't so very far from my "company." The three of them positively bristled with dog's-eared and dirty passes from every provost marshal in South Africa, which they insisted on showing me. I had not thought of asking for them, and was much impressed; to have so many they must be special men. They escorted me to the farm, where the guid wife and several daughters met us, and gave me a drink of milk, which was most acceptable after my long and dusty trek. The whole family appeared either to speak or to understand English, and we had a very friendly chat, during the course of which I gathered that there were no Boer commandoes anywhere within miles; that the whole family cordially hoped that there never would be again, and that Brink was really a most loyal Briton, and had been much against the war, but had been forced to go on commando with his two sons. Their loyalty was evident, because there was an oleograph of the Queen on the wall, and one of the numerous flappers was playing our National anthem on the harmonium as I entered. The farmer and the boys took a great interest in all my personal gear, especially a brand-new pair of latest-pattern field-glasses, which they tried with much delight, and many exclamations of "Allermachtig." They evidently appreciated them extremely, but could not imagine any use for my kodak in war-time, even after I had taken a family group. Funny, simple fellows! They asked and got permission from me to sell milk, eggs, and butter in the camp, and I strolled on my way congratulating myself on the good turn I was thus able to do myself and detachment, none of whom had even smelt such luxuries for weeks.