V 



BCKGROUND 



OF the people who live lonely lives, on the veld or 

 elsewhere, few do so of their own free choice. Some 

 there are shut off from all their kind souls sheathed 

 in some film invisible, through which no thrill of^, 

 sympathy may pass ; some barred by their self-con- 

 sciousness, heart hungry still, who never learned in^S^!^ 

 childhood to make friends ; some have a secret or a 

 grief ; some, thoughts too big or bad for comrade- 

 ship. But most will charge to Fate the thoughtless 

 choice, the chance, or hard necessity, that drew 

 or drove them to the life apart ; they know the 

 lesson that was learned of old : " It is not good for 

 man to be alone." 



Go out among them, ever moving on, whose white 

 bones mark the way for others' feet who shun the 

 cities, living in the wilds, and move in silence, self- 

 contained. Who knows what they think, or dream, 

 or hope, or suffer ? Who can know ? For speech among 

 that hard-schooled lot is but a half-remembered art. 



Yet something you may guess, since with the man 

 there often goes his dog ; his silent tribute to The 

 Book. Oh, it's little they know of life who cannot guess 

 the secret springs of loneliness and love that prompt 

 the keeping of a trifling pet ; who do not know what 



