"What do I think, baas? Well, I think they will leave him to the lions. The chances are that, if he escapes the lions, he will be starved to death. I don’t think they will give him food. Already, as you can see, they are half starved themselves; and when Berg Damaras and Bushmen are in such a plight, and hard put to it, they can’t afford to be kind and compassionate like the white people. I know them well, and I know that the boy would die. If his mother were alive, it would be different. She would find him food somehow." "Well, Tom," said Mr. Blakeney, "you can have your way, and keep the boy. It would be a cruel thing to leave him to the mercies of these starving people. We’ll take him with us, and make the best of the poor little beggar." Tom promptly showed his contentment by taking a steinbuck cutlet from the frying-pan and handing it to Peter, who squatted near him, watching with elfish eyes the white men having their supper. The wild boy snatched eagerly at the savoury morsel. Tom drew back the cutlet, and, pointing a rebuking forefinger, said in a tone of reproof,-- "No, not that way, Peter. I’ve told you before. Take your food like a gentleman." The wild boy already understood much of Tom’s tutelage. Still gazing with greedy eyes, he held out his paw, and allowed Tom to hand him the food. Then, conveying it to his mouth, he quickly made short work of it, devouring it very much as an ape devours its food. The white men having supped, Peter was fed, Tom superintending the process, and seeing to it that his charge made his repast in a reasonably decent fashion. "Peter," said Tom, when all was finished, "I have hopes of you. You certainly are improving. You didn’t lick your plate to-night--of course I was keeping an eye on you--and you are learning not to snatch at everything like a beastly monkey. I do believe I shall make a man of you yet." The wild boy looked at his instructor’s face; it was a strange, yearning, almost pathetic look--the look of a dog trying to make out his master’s meaning. Then he reached out a black hand, and softly laid it on Tom’s arm. It was the most gentle, the most human-like, gesture he had yet exhibited. "Poor little chap!" said Mr. Blakeney; "I believe he begins to feel the instincts of humanity working within him." "Yes," said Guy, "I’m sure he does. He’ll do all right, Tom. You’re making a first-class reformer."