There went to the stalwart and kindly Prince one day an artist who said he desired to surrender two mules which did not belong to him. It was not the truth that he desired to give them up, nor was it out of politeness that he told the falsehood. The fact was that the army had taken his horses and left him a pair of feeble, poorly animated steeds of the clothes-horse pattern, which gave out on the long road between Poplar Grove and Bloemfontein. At the same time two healthy mules, astray on the veldt, evinced a yearning for human companionship, and insisted upon intruding themselves upon the company of the artist and his Basuto servant while they were preparing lunch. To go on with his own weak and sick animals was to invite a loss of locomotive power in a country infested with Boers. To make use of the fresher mules was the natural and obvious alternative. Therefore the artist abandoned his horses and went on with the mules. Arrived in Bloemfontein, he at once continued his travels by joining the "bill-sticking expedition" of General French over to Thaba N'chu and the region beyond. "Bill sticking," by the way, was how the officers nicknamed the distribution of copies of Lord Roberts' proclamation calling on the Boers to lay down their arms and sign a promise not to continue the war. When the artist returned to Bloemfontein he was met by friends who said that he would certainly be shot if he was found to be using animals that did not belong to him. Lord Roberts had grown angry, it was said, and had exclaimed aloud that no matter who or what the man might be, the next offender in this respect should be shot. It was this stentorian cry, and not the still, small voice of conscience, that sent the artist to the Prince, to whom he told the truth and made formal surrender of the mules. "And very nice indeed it is of you," said the Prince, "very honest and straightforward. I will send some one to get the mules this afternoon." "But, I beg pardon," said the artist, "now everything's all right, isn't it? The mules were not mine, and I have surrendered them, and there's no trouble to follow?" "No, indeed," said Prince Francis, "I am much obliged to you. Animals are very scarce and we need all we can get; so very good of you to do as you have done." "Well, now," said the artist, "won't you please let me keep the mules? The Army stole my horses and left me a broken-down pair. I had to turn them loose and take these mules or I should have been killed or captured by the Boers. I have nothing else to move on with. I wish you would let me keep the mules." "Really," said the Prince, "I cannot do that. I never heard such a proposition in my life. I have no authority to do as you ask. Upon my word, this is most extraordinary. Come, I'll tell you what I will do. I'll see that you get a pair of animals at the Army price. I can't sell them to you or buy them for you, but I can have a pair put aside for you to buy of somebody who brings them in to sell."