For the next few days they trekked on steadily through beautiful country. Tom and Poeskop attended untiringly to the wild boy’s education, Mr. Blakeney occasionally rendering them assistance. In another day’s time Tom had induced the child to wear an old flannel shirt. He showed no inclination to run away. Still they took the precaution to fasten him up with a cord fixed to a broad piece of leather, which Tom sewed round his waist. And at night Tom--who was becoming really interested in the little creature, and had no intention of losing him again--gave up sleeping in the tent with Guy, and lay down under his sheepskin kaross by the fire, with a blanket under him, Peter meanwhile sleeping at the length of his cord two or three yards away. They had washed the little fellow thoroughly with carbolic soap and water, and made him clean. And Poeskop now washed him daily. As a matter of fact, he was not objectionably dirty when first captured. Baboons in the wild state keep themselves remarkably clean, and the child evidently was not afraid of fresh water. For two days Peter still ran about on all fours, much to Tom’s annoyance. On the third day the force of example began to tell, and he attempted to walk after the manner of the other human beings he saw about him. He had so long shambled along like a baboon on his hands and feet, that his attempts at walking upright were not at first completely successful. Still he persevered, and was occasionally rewarded by Tom with bits of sugar or a piece of bread and jam. It was a matter of some vexation to Tom that, as they strolled around the camp at outspan places, Peter still chose to avail himself of the strange veldt fare to which he had been accustomed. He would pull up and devour certain roots and bulbs. Once he caught and ate a small lizard, rejecting only the head. And he would eat spiders, caterpillars, and even scorpions--after he had carefully and most deftly torn away the sting--and other unpleasant trifles. Tom’s annoyance at these habits was extreme. "Here I’m feeding him on Christian fare three times a day," he would say, "and the little beast must go and make me sick by devouring all these filthy things which he picks up in the veldt." "My dear Tom," replied Guy chaffingly, "the poor beggar must have his dessert! Even we Christians enjoy nuts, ginger, raisins, wine, and other things, after dinner, when we’re living in a state of complete civilization. And, after all, what’s the difference between poor Peter wolfing down a lizard, or a caterpillar, or a chrysalis, while we white folk delight in oysters, and periwinkles and whelks, lobsters and prawns, which are nothing but marine insects; frogs, eels, spawn (I’m thinking of cod’s roe), the livers and lights of various beasts--I mean what we call ’fry’--kidneys, tripe, and other things of that sort. The French eat snails. The whole thing is only a matter of individual taste and environment, as scientific folk call it."