This goal was reached that night, and a cordial welcome given to the poor exhausted traveller, although he was warned that he could by no means consider himself safe on the farm, as the British passed it nearly every day. Nigh three weeks he spent there, taking refuge under the trees of an adjacent hill by day and sleeping under the hospitable roof by night. As time went on and the visits of the Khakis became rarer, he became more at ease, and often worked with the farmer and the women in the fields, helping them to dig sweet-potatoes, and assisting his host in the work of sorting, drying, and rolling up the leaves of the tobacco-plant. He also became an expert in the art of making candles, and took active part in the other small industries carried on in that frugal and industrious household, and the evenings were spent in poring over maps, geographical and astronomical, which his host happened to possess. Many were the questions put to him, and long the discussions about worlds and suns and planets, while the busy fingers plied and rolled tobacco leaves, but these discussions generally ended in a sigh, a shake of the head, and an unbelieving, "there _must_ be something solid _under_ this earth," from the sceptical host. The time was now approaching for the fulfilment of his heart's ambition, but there is still one small incident to relate before we leave our hero. One day, while he was still on the farm, he was passed by a Kaffir, whom he questioned as to his destination. The native replied that he was on his way to Pretoria, and the happy thought occurred to Mr. Celliers to ask this native to let his wife know that her husband was in perfect safety. Now the remarkable part of this incident was, that that unknown native took the trouble to deliver his message faithfully and conscientiously, and it was only after the war that Mr. Celliers heard from his wife that she had received news of his successful escape from a strange Kaffir, who said he had been sent by her husband. This is a striking instance, well worth recording here, of the sagacity and fidelity of some members of the heathen tribes. It was on September 13th that unexpected deliverance came in the shape of a Boer waggon in search of green forage for the horses on commando. Mr. Celliers instantly decided to accompany the waggon back to the lager, and prepared himself for departure that very day. Tender, grateful leave was taken of the good friends who had harboured him so long, and he drove away, seated, with his few worldly possessions beside him, on the top of a load of green forage. The next day he arrived at the lager of Commandant Badenhorst's commando on the farm Waterval near the "Sein koppies," and now we close the chapter with the following words, which I have translated from his diary: