"My word, uncle," said Guy, as he gently sponged the wound with carbolic and water, and then applied a fresh dressing, "that brute gave you a horrid bite." "Yes," answered Mr. Blakeney cheerfully, "It’s a nasty place. The old man baboon got his teeth right through my thick, elephant-cord coat as if it had been tissue paper, and fastened well on to my shoulder. In another second, if Poeskop hadn’t fired and killed him, he would have had a mouthful of my flesh clean out. A baboon’s bite is far worse than any dog’s; in fact, I’ve seen an old man baboon tear out the throat of a big hound, and kill him without giving him the ghost of a chance of retaliation. The brute went at my throat last night. It’s a lucky thing I fended him off, and he only got me by the shoulder. I shall be all right in a few days. I’ll take it quietly, and sit in the wagon and eat slops." They sat down to breakfast, and then, calling Poeskop up, held consultation as to the baboon boy. Poeskop, who knew the Berg Damara tongue, tried the child in various ways, repeating simple sentences slowly. The boy made no reply, save by curious grunts and ape-like contortions of the face; if he had ever possessed the power of speech, he seemed to have for the present quite lost it. Still, as the Bushman spoke to him, there was at times a strange glimmer of perception about his eyes, as if his mind were striving to recover some lost memory. Once even he opened his mouth, and seemed upon the very verge of speech. They all waited breathlessly for what was to follow, but the boy closed his mouth with a snap, assumed the ape-like expression, which he had no doubt borrowed from his friends the baboons, and they could get no more out of him. Tom gazed long and earnestly at the odd-looking little creature. "I think," he said presently, "we’ll call you ’Peter.’ I remember reading once a most curious story about a German lad who was found without power of speech and as wild as a savage. He was called Peter the Wild Boy, and there was some strange mystery about his birth. I forget what became of him, but the mystery of his birth was, I fancy, never cleared up. Now, Peter," he continued, getting up, "I mean to make you a respectable member of society. And, first of all, I’m going to put you into a decent pair of breeks. Clothed, and associating with high-toned folk like ourselves, by degrees we may get you into your right mind."