'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir WarMitford, Bertram
History
'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir War
Mitford, Bertram
South Africa -- History -- Frontier Wars, 1811-1878 -- Fiction
He did not choose, for reasons of his own, to ask Josane direct how
imminent the danger might be. To do so would be ever so slightly to
impair his own _prestige_. But in his own judgment he decided that the
sooner they set their affairs in order against the coming storm the
better.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
"AH, LOVE, BUT A DAY!"
Pondering over what the old Kafir had said, Eustace busied himself over
two or three odd jobs. Then, returning to the storeroom, he filled up a
large measure of mealies and went to the house.
"I'm going down to the ostrich camp, Eanswyth. Do you feel inclined to
stroll that far, or are you too tired?"
"Yes and no. I think it will do me good."
Flinging on a wide straw hat she joined him in the doorway. The ostrich
camp was only a couple of hundred yards from the house, and at sight of
them the great birds came shambling down to the fence, the truculent
male having laid aside his aggressive ferocity for the occasion, as he
condescended, with sullen and lordly air, to allow himself to be fed,
though even then the quarrelsome disposition of the creature would find
vent every now and again in a savage hiss, accompanied by a sudden and
treacherous kick aimed at his timid consort whenever the latter ventured
within the very outskirts of the mealies thrown down. But no sooner had
the last grain disappeared than the worst instincts of the aggressive
bully were all to the fore again, and the huge biped, rearing himself up
to his full height, his jetty coat and snowy wing-feathers making a
brave show, challenged his benefactors forthwith, rolling his fiery eyes
as though longing to behold them in front of him with no protecting
fence between.
"Of all the ungracious, not to say ungrateful, scoundrels disfiguring
God's earth, I believe a cock ostrich is the very worst," remarked
Eustace. "He is, if possible, worse in that line than the British
loafer, for even the latter won't always open his Billingsgate upon you
until he has fairly assimilated the gin with which your ill-judged dole
`to save him from starving' has warmed his gullet. But this brute would
willingly kick you into smithereens, while you were in the very act of
feeding him."
Eanswyth laughed.
"What strange ideas you have got, Eustace. Now I wonder to how many
people any such notion as that would have occurred."
"Have I? I am often told so, so I suppose I must have. But the grand
majority of people never think themselves, consequently when they happen
upon anybody who does they gaze upon him with unmitigated astonishment
as a strange and startling product of some unknown state of existence."
"Thank you," retorted Eanswyth with a laugh. "That's a little hard on
me. As I made the remark, of course I am included in the grand majority
which doesn't think."
"I have a very great mind to treat that observation with the silence it
deserves. It is a ridiculous observation. Isn't it?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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