There was Consuelo, tall and slender, our languid "Spanish beauty," with her rich brown hair and slumbrous dark-brown eyes; there was our little Marguerite, fresh and fair as the flower after which she was named, an opening marguerite in the dewy daintiness of life's first summer morning; there was Annie, spoilt and wilful but undoubtedly the fairest of them all; and then there was her sister Sara, Hansie's favourite, with a girlish charm impossible to describe. Her creamy white complexion, her lovely soft brown eyes, her winning smile and tender voice--what could be more delightful than to sit and watch her as she moved and spoke with rare, unconscious grace, clad in a snowy dress of fine white muslin! One sweet summer morn, a Sabbath, if I remember correctly, when the air was filled with the fragrance of innumerable buds and blossoms, Hansie sat in the accustomed spot, with her diary on her lap. She was not writing then, but, with a slip of paper in her hands and a gleam of mischief in her eyes, she was repeating with evident enjoyment a few catching lines. "Oh, Carlo, this is lovely! I must learn these verses and recite them to the girls when they come this afternoon! Listen, Carlo." FROM KITCHENER TO SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WAR _Sunday_ I am taking measures once for all to clear my reputation; I swear to give de Wet a fall that means annihilation. _Monday_ A brilliant action by Brabant, the enemy has fled, Their loss was something dreadful; ours--one single Kaffir dead. _Tuesday_ De Wet is short of food-stuffs, his ammunition's done, His horses are all dying, and he's only got one gun. _Wednesday_ The cordon draws in round de Wet; he now has little room, He only can escape one way--by road to Potchefstroom. _Thursday_ De Wet is now caged like a rat, he's fairly in a box, Around him grouped are Clements, Clery, Methuen, French, and Knox. _Friday_ An unfortunate event occurred--I report it with regret, A convoy with five hundred men was captured by de Wet. _Saturday_ A Kaffir runner says he saw de Wet's men trekking west, With ammunition for two years, and food supply the best. _Saturday (later)_ A loyal farmer told our Scouts de Wet was riding east, Each man, beside the horse he rode, was leading a spare beast. Carlo wagged his tail sympathetically. * * * * * Overhead the sky was of the deepest, richest sapphire blue, paling away to the horizon to the most delicate tints, against which the distant hills showed up in bold relief. "Gentleman Jim," one of the native servants, was evidently enjoying his Sunday too, for he loitered in the garden, plucking up a weed here and there and watching the bees at work, the busy bees who know of no day of rest. "Bring me some grapes, please, Jim," Hansie called out to him. "Yes, little missie," with alacrity. "What you like? Them black ones or them white ones?" "Some of both."