When Mr. Blakeney awoke next morning and looked out from his wagon, he saw before him a curious and most laughable scene. Tom was sitting by the wild boy, having in front of him a large bowl of mealie-porridge, sweetened with sugar, into which had been poured some condensed milk and water. With this savoury mess Tom was evidently trying his hand upon the wild creature. To his father’s astonishment, he had apparently already met with some success. The wild boy seemed pretty sharp-set, and having seemingly convinced himself that his captors meant him no immediate injury, was more at his ease than the terrified, hunted-looking creature of the previous night. Still there was something very bestial and uncanny about him. "Now," said Tom, holding a spoonful of porridge and milk close to the wild boy’s face, "say _skorf_." The wild boy made a wry face, and lunged with open mouth at the spoon. Evidently he had tasted the food and wished for more. Tom drew back the spoon. "_Skorf_," he repeated. "_Skorf, skorf, skorf._" With each repetition of the word he held the spoon a little closer, and at last, to Mr. Blakeney’s astonishment, the wild boy grunted out some sound resembling very distantly the word Tom was waiting for. After this feat Tom rewarded the strange-looking black imp with several spoonfuls of the porridge. Then again he made him repeat the word, or grunt out some kind of equivalent. The whole scene was so ludicrous that, as Tom finished up the basin and administered to the wild boy the last spoonful, Mr. Blakeney could no longer contain himself, but burst into a shout of laughter. "You two are getting on splendidly," he said, as soon as he could gather speech. "How long have you been at your lesson, Tom?" "About twenty minutes, pater," returned Tom. "He was awfully annoyed at first, and wouldn’t buck up a bit. I could see he was very hungry, though, and took time, and in a little while he saw my meaning, and began to grunt out some kind of imitation of the word I was repeating. Do you know, pater, I believe the creature has spoken before. I can’t tell you quite why. But there was a queer, knowing look in his eyes, as if he had heard people speak at some time or other, no doubt long ago, and was just trying to call to memory something. I wonder how long he’s been living with the baboons." "Wait a bit, Tom," said his father; "this is very interesting. I shook myself so much laughing just now at you two that I hurt my shoulder. Here, Guy," he went on, as his nephew came in with his shot-gun and a couple of brace of francolin, "give me a hand with this wound. That bite the old man baboon gave me last night is very painful, and we must dress it again." Guy ran for some clean water and carbolic, and, his uncle having taken off his flannel shirt, unfastened the dressing put on the night before. The wound was very angry and inflamed, and the shoulder was swollen and puffy.