Now, Mr. Hattingh would no doubt have concerned himself with the peaceful occupation of his bakery until the end of the war (for he had his hands more than full), had his compassionate heart not been wrung beyond endurance by the scenes he was forced to witness every day. His conscience smote him and he reproached himself with being in town when duty should have called him to the side of his fellow-countrymen, struggling against such fearful odds in their efforts to preserve their independence. Bitterness filled his soul. What religious and conscientious scruples he still had against violating his oath of neutrality he laid before his most trusted friends, to be met with the same answer everywhere, "The oath of neutrality is null and void, a mere formality," as the enemy had declared in connection with the recruiting of National Scouts from the ranks of the Transvaal burghers. At this critical moment it was not to be wondered at that he should have accepted Captain Naude's appointment of him on the Secret Committee, not only without hesitation, but in a spirit of intense satisfaction. Henceforth the mind of the baker dwelt with ceaseless activity on the problems of the Boer espionage, while his busy fingers plied the brown and white loaves of bread. Inspired by patriotism, driven by love and compassion, he became in time the most resourceful, the most ingenious, and the most trusted of Boer spies. One evening, soon after dusk, while he was engaged in his bakery, he heard a timid knock at the door, which he opened, fully expecting to see a customer. To his surprise he found there a Boer with a long, unkempt beard--a "backvelder," or, as we call it, a "takhaar," of the most pronounced type. The man withdrew into the shadows as the door opened, and with great apparent timidity showed as little of himself as possible. Mr. Hattingh asked him to come in, and he ventured forward with shrinking hesitation. "What can I do for you?" Mr. Hattingh asked. "Take me in," the man answered breathlessly. "Harbour me. I am a Boer spy, straight from the commandos." Mr. Hattingh betrayed the greatest amazement, as if he had never heard of the possibility of such a thing. "A Boer spy!" he exclaimed. "How did you come in?" The man described the route he had taken, and in an instant Mr. Hattingh, with his intimate knowledge of the actual route employed by Boers, realised that the man before him was not from the field at all, but a National Scout, employed by the British to betray the loyal Boers--a "trap," in fact, such as were in constant use against their brother burghers. Mr. Hattingh asked him a few more leading questions to satisfy himself of the true nature of the man's errand, and then, as if suddenly recalled to himself, broke out in evident agitation: "But I cannot harbour you, my good fellow. I am _neutral_." "Surely you would not have the heart to see me fall into the hands of the enemy!" the man exclaimed.