"That’s all very fine, Guy," retorted Tom, "but we ought to draw the line somewhere. And Peter, now that he is becoming a respectable biped, has got to draw it at lizards and scorpions and caterpillars." After the very next meal the two cousins and Peter went for a stroll through some timber just outside the camp. Peter, ranging at the end of his cord, suddenly turned aside at a tree, pulled off with two little horny fingers a piece of bark, and drawing forth a huge fat grub from its hole, devoured it instantly, with manifest gusto. Even Guy, who had just enjoyed an excellent dinner, as had Peter, was disgusted at this performance. "Nasty little beggar!" he exclaimed angrily, jerking at Peter by his cord. "You ought to know better. Come out of it, and don’t do that again!" Peter grinned angrily, and showed his white teeth. He knew he was being scolded, and he resented it. Tom laughed heartily. "I’m glad you’re convinced at last," he said. "Now you’ll agree with me that Peter needs reform, and that he must be broken off his baboon propensities." "I’m convinced, absolutely," answered Guy, with a disgusted look still on his face. "It’s enough to make one sick. I’ll help you all I know to wean the little beggar of these disgusting practices.--Peter, you little beast," he added, again plucking the wild boy by the cord, "you’re not to do it. Here, come and take my hand, and walk like a gentleman." The little, wild creature, after looking intently into Guy’s face, and seeing a smile of good humour replace the frown of disgust, came up, put his black paw into Guy’s strong, sunburnt hand, and together the three wandered back to the wagon. On the sixth day after the adventure with the baboons, they reached a long range of hills, among which Poeskop’s sharp eyes soon detected signs of native life. He informed Mr. Blakeney that the last time he had travelled that way the place was uninhabited. Entering a broad, open valley, here and there littered with boulders and adorned with patches of bush, they outspanned not far from a stream of water that ran by. Then Poeskop, accompanied by Mr. Blakeney and the boys, all fully armed, went up the slope of a low hill towards some huts that nestled among trees and rocks. It was manifest that natives were about, and that the little settlement was a good deal perturbed at the advent of the travellers. Black figures flitted hither and thither, and cries could be heard. "What are they, Poeskop?" asked Mr. Blakeney. "Berg Damaras, I think, baas," replied the Bushman; "but I don’t quite understand the place. They seem to have houses up in the trees. I’ll go forward and see what they have to say. I don’t think they’ll harm us; but if they try to, do you and the young baases shoot."