the story of an african farm-第42部分

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in　the　abyss。



〃Boy；〃　he　said；　and　the　listener　was　not　more　unsmiling　now　than　the

speaker；　〃you　are　happy　to　be　here！　　Stay　where　you　are。　　If　you　ever　pray；

let　it　be　only　the　one　old　prayer'Lead　us　not　into　temptation。'　　Live　on

here　quietly。　　The　time　may　yet　come　when　you　will　be　that　which　other　men

have　hoped　to　be　and　never　will　be　now。〃



The　stranger　rose；　shook　the　dust　from　his　sleeve；　and　ashamed　at　his　own

earnestness；　looked　across　the　bushes　for　his　horse。



〃We　should　have　been　on　our　way　already；〃　he　said。　　〃We　shall　have　a　long

ride　in　the　dark　tonight。〃



Waldo　hastened　to　fetch　the　animal；　but　he　returned　leading　it　slowly。　　The

sooner　it　came　the　sooner　would　its　rider　be　gone。



The　stranger　was　opening　his　saddlebag；　in　which　were　a　bright　French　novel

and　an　old　brown　volume。　　He　took　the　last　and　held　it　out　to　the　boy。



〃It　may　be　of　some　help　to　you；〃　he　said；　carelessly。　　〃It　was　a　gospel　to

me　when　I　first　fell　on　it。　　You　must　not　expect　too　much；　but　it　may　give

you　a　centre　round　which　to　hang　your　ideas；　instead　of　letting　them　lie

about　in　a　confusion　that　makes　the　head　ache。　　We　of　this　generation　are

not　destined　to　eat　and　be　satisfied　as　our　fathers　were；　we　must　be

content　to　go　hungry。〃



He　smiled　his　automaton　smile；　and　rebuttoned　the　bag。　　Waldo　thrust　the

book　into　his　breast；　and　while　he　saddled　the　horse　the　stranger　made

inquiries　as　to　the　nature　of　the　road　and　the　distance　to　the　next　farm。



When　the　bags　were　fixed；　Waldo　took　up　his　wooden　post　and　began　to　fasten

it　on　to　the　saddle；　tying　it　with　the　little　blue　cotton　handkerchief　from

his　neck。　　The　stranger　looked　on　in　silence。　　When　it　was　done　the　boy

held　the　stirrup　for　him　to　mount。



〃What　is　your　name？〃　he　inquired；　ungloving　his　right　hand　when　he　was　in

the　saddle。



The　boy　replied：



〃Well；　I　trust　we　shall　meet　again　some　day；　sooner　or　later。〃



He　shook　hands　with　the　ungloved　hand；　then　drew　on　the　glove；　and　touched

his　horse；　and　rode　slowly　away。　　The　boy　stood　to　watch　him。



Once　when　the　stranger　had　gone　half　across　the　plain　he　looked　back。



〃Poor　devil；〃　he　said；　smiling　and　stroking　his　moustache。　　Then　he　looked

to　see　if　the　little　blue　handkerchief　were　still　safely　knotted。　　〃Poor

devil！〃



He　smiled；　and　then　he　sighed　wearily；　very　wearily。



And　Waldo　waited　till　the　moving　speck　had　disappeared　on　the　horizon；　then

he　stooped　and　kissed　passionately　a　hoof…mark　in　the　sand。　　Then　he　called

his　young　birds　together；　and　put　his　book　under　his　arm；　and　walked　home

along　the　stone　wall。　　There　was　a　rare　beauty　to　him　in　the　sunshine　that

evening。





Chapter　2。III。　　Gregory　Rose　Finds　His　Affinity。



The　new　man；　Gregory　Rose；　sat　at　the　door　of　his　dwelling；　his　arms

folded；　his　legs　crossed；　and　a　profound　melancholy　seeming　to　rest　over

his　soul。　　His　house　was　a　little　square　daub…and…wattle　building；　far　out

in　the　karoo；　two　miles　from　the　homestead。　　It　was　covered　outside　with　a

sombre　coating　of　brown　mud；　two　little　panes　being　let　into　the　walls　for

windows。　　Behind　it　were　the　sheep…kraals；　and　to　the　right　a　large　dam；

now　principally　containing　baked　mud。　　Far　off　the　little　kopje　concealed

the　homestead；　and　was　not　itself　an　object　conspicuous　enough　to　relieve

the　dreary　monotony　of　the　landscape。



Before　the　door　sat　Gregory　Rose　in　his　shirt…sleeves；　on　a　camp…stool；　and

ever　and　anon　he　sighed　deeply。　　There　was　that　in　his　countenance　for

which　even　his　depressing　circumstances　failed　to　account。　　Again　and　again

he　looked　at　the　little　kopje；　at　the　milk…pail　at　his　side；　and　at　the

brown　pony；　who　a　short　way　off　cropped　the　dry　bushesand　sighed。



Presently　he　rose　and　went　into　his　house。　　It　was　one　tiny　room；　the

whitewashed　walls　profusely　covered　with　prints　cut　from　the　〃Illustrated

London　News〃；　and　in　which　there　was　a　noticeable　preponderance　of　female

faces　and　figures。　　A　stretcher　filled　one　end　of　the　hut；　and　a　rack　for　a

gun　and　a　little　hanging　looking…glass　diversified　the　gable　opposite；

while　in　the　centre　stood　a　chair　and　table。　　All　was　scrupulously　neat　and

clean；　for　Gregory　kept　a　little　duster　folded　in　the　corner　of　his　table…

drawer；　just　as　he　had　seen　his　mother　do；　and　every　morning　before　he　went

out　he　said　his　prayers；　and　made　his　bed；　and　dusted　the　table　and　the

legs　of　the　chairs；　and　even　the　pictures　on　the　wall　and　the　gun…rack。



On　this　hot　afternoon　he　took　from　beneath　his　pillow　a　watch…bag　made　by

his　sister　Jemima；　and　took　out　the　watch。　　Only　half　past　four！　　With　a

suppressed　groan　he　dropped　it　back　and　sat　down　beside　the　table。　　Half…

past　four！　　Presently　he　roused　himself。　　He　would　write　to　his　sister

Jemima。　　He　always　wrote　to　her　when　he　was　miserable。　　She　was　his　safety…

valve。　　He　forgot　her　when　he　was　happy；　but　he　used　her　when　he　was

wretched。



He　took　out　ink　and　paper。　　There　was　a　family　crest　and　motto　on　the

latter；　for　the　Roses　since　coming　to　the　colony　had　discovered　that　they

were　of　distinguished　lineage。　　Old　Rose　himself；　an　honest　English　farmer；

knew　nothing　of　his　noble　descent；　but　his　wife　and　daughter　knew

especially　his　daughter。　　There　were　Roses　in　England　who　kept　a　park　and

dated　from　the　Conquest。　　So　the　colonial　〃Rose　Farm〃　became　〃Rose　Manor〃

in　remembrance　of　the　ancestral　domain；　and　the　claim　of　the　Roses　to　noble

blood　was　establishedin　their　own　minds　at　least。



Gregory　took　up　one　of　the　white；　crested　sheets；　but　on　deeper　reflection

he　determined　to　take　a　pink　one；　as　more　suitable　to　the　state　of　his

feelings。　　He　began：



〃Kopje　Alone；

〃Monday　afternoon。



〃My　Dear　Jemima〃



Then　he　looked　up　into　the　little　glass　opposite。　　It　was　a　youthful　face

reflected　there；　with　curling　brown　beard　and　hair；　but　in　the　dark　blue

eyes　there　was　a　look　of　languid　longing　that　touched　him。　　He　re…dipped

his　pen　and　wrote：



〃When　I　look　up　into　the　little　glass　that　hangs　opposite　me；　I　wonder　if

that　changed　and　sad　face〃



Here　he　sat　still　and　reflected。　　It　sounded　almost　as　if　he　might　be

conceited　or　unmanly　to　be　looking　at　his　own　face　in　the　glass。　　No；　that

would　not　do。　　So　he　looked　for　another　pink　sheet　and　began　again。



〃Kopje　Alone；

〃Monday　afternoon。



〃Dear　Sister；It　is　hardly　six　months　since　I　left　you　to　come　to　this

spot；　yet　could　you　now　see　me　I　know　what　you　would　say；　I　know　what

mother　would　say'Can　that　be　our　Gregthat　thing　with　the　strange　look

in　his　eyes？'



〃Yes；　Jemima；　it　is　your　Greg；　and　the　change　has　been　coming　over　me　ever

since　I　came　here；　but　it　is　greatest　since　yesterday。　　You　know　what

sorrows　I　have　passed　through；　Jemima；　how　unjustly　I　was　always　treated　at

school；　the　masters　keeping　me　back　and　calling　me　a　blockhead；　though；　as

they　themselves　allowed；　I　had　the　best　memory　of　any　boy　in　the　school；

and　could　repeat　whole　books