JULY. 
WILD BOGY-MEN. 
IS beautiful mother, with her big, soft 
eyes and long, delicate ears, pressed him 
down softly into his ‘form’ in the long grass, 
and, striding like a goddess on air, left him— 
him of the lovely eyes, the soft coat, and the 
legs like hazel-wands. 
He was not a leveret, and this was no 
innocent, half-choked English wild. He was 
a baby impala antelope, and this was Africa. 
The thicket of acacia wherein he hid was 
silent as the grave, but nof empty. He knew 
that, or acted as if he did, without asking ; else 
why, at the pressure of his mother’s soft, wet 
muzzle, should he have crouched and ‘ frozen’ 
in silence? A domestic calf or lamb would 
have followed its dam, bleating. 
The grass closed up after his mother’s 
passage, and the antelope fawn was alone. 
Outside, in the great world of the open 
‘veldt, where the reddening sun glared 
brazenly, there was life enough. He could 
hear it—the shrill, barking neigh of zebras ; 
the steady shuffle of string upon string of 
passing antelope—among any of which his 
