Our heroes, although consuming with those high-souled ideas which all brave and romantic boys must feel, and which the men of Johannesburg had apparently outgrown, still watched with wonder the mighty edifices they passed. Their wonder increased as they came to the suburbs, and saw the avenues and tall, shady trees which had all sprung up like magic out of the bare veldt--stately groves, over a hundred feet in height, all created in six years; beautiful gardens, luxuriant shrubberies, costly and artistic villas, grassy lawns, orchards, and tropic climbers covering up unsightly places with cool and exquisite loveliness. It was as if Aladdin had rubbed his magic lamp, and lo! his enslaved genius had done the trick. The Uitlanders were the enslaved genii that had wrought this miracle upon that treeless veldt. Their civilised skill and educated intellects had accomplished what would have taken centuries to achieve under the Boer system. Yet the ignorant Boers were the masters, and ruled over intellect and civilisation. This, to our heroes, seemed even more incongruous and wonderful than the marvels which were spread out before them. However had it come to pass? However could it have gone on so long? How much longer could it possibly continue? They were still trying to solve the problem when they drove up through a delightful avenue of trees, and stopped in front of a large and stately mansion. It was the Transvaal home of Clarence Raybold. Everywhere they looked, the evidence of wealth and lavish outlay stared them in the face--in the grounds with its trees and lawns, which had been forced and kept green by expensive irrigation; in the vast columns and carved work of the masonry. Mr Raybold had expended a fortune on the rearing of this suburban palace as a testimony to his wealth. Even Clarence was impressed as he led the way up the steps and knocked at the heavy, polished front door. Mr Raybold, although surrounded by so much luxury, was a bluff and hearty man, who put on no airs of dignity. He welcomed his son with affectionate warmth and his two friends with genuine hospitality. Clarence had written about their intentions from Cape Town, so that they were expected, and found their rooms all prepared. While they were having something to eat to keep them going till dinner, a man was sent with a trap to bring their luggage. Mr Raybold heard the account of their arms being taken by the Boers with a grim smile; but he made no other comment than to say he would do his best to have them returned, or kept safely for them until they left the Transvaal. It was only when they were leaving the dining-room to have a bath and change their clothes, that he closed the door carefully, and said in an impressive undertone--