CHEISTMAS ON THE VELDT 227 



ushered us to our several sleeping apartments, which, 

 unlike those of many a Boer household, were comfort- 

 ably furnished and spotlessly clean. 



It was past midday when a hideous Fingo brought 

 a cup of coffee into my room, and from that dusky 

 servitor I learned that my companions were still in bed. 

 Very soon, however, the dulcet voice of Tommy Hood 

 echoed through the house, and, looking out of the rose- 

 festooned window of my room, I saw the harum-scarum 

 youngster, clad in a gaudy sleeping suit, and with a 

 towel bound round his head, turban fashion, astride one 

 of the farmer's upstanding, unsaddled, Cape stallions, 

 and galloping like a madman towards a small dam of 

 water which lay about half -a -mile distant from the 

 homestead. Madcap Hood was off to make his matutinal 

 ablution. Upon entering the dining-room, I found my 

 host and his three buxom daughters awaiting the ap- 

 pearance of their somewhat tardy guests at the breakfast- 

 table. The remainder of the party came in one by one, 

 the last being Hood, who, in spite of his statement to 

 the effect that he found more mud than water in his 

 bathing place, looked as though he had emerged from 

 the proverbial bandbox. 



During the progress of the meal, the plans for the 



afternoon's programme were discussed. V suggested 



that, the day being short, a coot drive would be a good 

 scheme. " There is a large pan of water within half- 

 an-hour's drive, and we ought to get a fair number of 

 duck, besides a good bag of old bald-heads" (coots), 



