as presumably he had expected to find but few survivors.  He was then sent about his business.  Gordon, who imagined me at Setlagoli, concluded his letter by saying the Colonel had informed General Cronje of my presence at Mrs. Fraser’s, and begged him to leave me unmolested.  This news, which had come by a Daily Mail correspondent, on his way South to send off cables, was satisfactory as far as it went, and we at once despatched a trusty old nigger called Boaz with a tiny note, folded microscopically in an old cartridge-case, to give the garrison news of the surrounding country.  This old man proved a reliable and successful messenger.  On many occasions he penetrated the cordon into the beleaguered town, and during the first two months he was practically the sole means they had of receiving news.  His task was of course a risky one, and we used to pay him L3 each way, but he never failed us.

Now commenced a fresh period of anxious waiting, and during this time I had leisure and opportunity to study the characteristics of these Boer farmers and their wives, and to learn what a curious race they are.  Mrs. Keeley told me a great deal of their ideas, habits, and ways, in which low cunning is combined with extreme curiosity and naive simplicity.  Many of the fathers and sons in the neighbourhood had slunk off to fight across the border, sending meanwhile their wives and daughters to call on Mrs. Keeley and condole with her in what they termed “her trouble,” and to ascertain at the same time all the circumstances of the farm and domestic circle.  A curious thing happened one day.  Directly after breakfast an old shandrydan drove up with a typical Dutch family as occupants.  Mrs. Keeley, busy with household matters, pulled a long face, knowing what was before her.  No questions as to being at home, disengaged, or follies of that sort, were asked; the horses were solemnly outspanned and allowed to roam; the family party had come to spend the day.  Seated gravely in the dining-room, they were refreshed by coffee and cold meat.  Mrs. Keeley remarked to me privately that the best thing to do was to put quantities of food before them and then leave them; and, beyond a few passing words as she went in and out of the room, I did not make out that they went in for entertaining each other.  So they sat for hours, saying nothing, doing nothing.  When Mrs. Keeley wanted me to have lunch, she asked them to remove to the stoep, and in this request they seemed to find nothing strange.  Finally, about five o’clock they went away, much to the relief of their hostess; not, however, before the latter had shrewdly guessed the real object of their visit, which was to find out about myself.  Report had reached them that Mafeking was in the hands of the Dutch, that the only survivor of the garrison had escaped in woman’s clothes, had been wandering on the veldt for days, and had finally been taken in here.  “Ach!” said the old vrow, “I would be afraid to meet him.  Is he really