worn into a huge hole, which the nigger had picturesquely filled by tacking on a scarlet shawl.  As the pants were made of navy blue serge the effect was unquestionably artistic, especially as the amateur tailor had done his sewing with string, most of the stitches running from an inch to an inch and a half in length.  Still, he was only one of many in similar case, so that he did not feel in the least degree lonely.  There were other niggers there—­“boys” belonging to the mule-drivers of the army.  These “boys” nearly all sported a military jacket and some sort of field service cap, which they had picked up somehow in camp.  The “side” these niggers put on when they get inside odds and ends of military wearing apparel is something appalling.  They swagger around amongst the civilian niggers, and treat them as beings of a very inferior mould, whilst the lies they tell concerning their individual acts of heroism would set the author of “Deadwood Dick” blushing out of simple envy.

The nigger girls cluster round these black veterans like flies around a western water hole in midsummer, and their shrill laughter makes the air fairly vibrate as they bandy jests with the cheeky herds.  The girls are rather pleasing in appearance, though far from being pretty.  As a rule, they wear clean print dresses and white aprons; they never wear hats of any kind, but coil a showy kerchief around their heads in coquettish fashion.  They are not particular as to colour, red, blue, yellow, or pink, anything will do as long as it is brilliant.  The skins of the girls are almost as varied as the headgear.  The Kaffir girl is very dark, almost black.  The bushman’s daughter is dirty yellow, like river water in flood time.  Some of the other tribes are as black as the record of a first-class burglar, but they have bright black eyes, which they roll about as a kitten rolls a ball of wool in playtime.

But whether they are black, brown, or coffee-coloured, they are all alike in one respect—­every daughter of them has a mouth that is as boundless as a mother’s blessing, and as limitless as the imagination of a spring poet in love.  When they are vexed they purse that mouth up into a bunch until it looks like a crumpled saddle-flap hanging on a hedge.  When they are pleased the mouth opens and expands like an indiarubber portmanteau ready for packing; that is when they smile, but when they laugh their ears have to shift to give the mouth a chance to get comfortably to its destination.  They have beautiful teeth, the white ivory showing against the black foreground like fresh tombstones in an old cemetery on a dark night.  It is amusing to watch them flirting with the soldier niggers.  They try to look coy, but soon fall victims to the skilful blandishments of the vain-glorious warriors, and after a little manoeuvring they put out their lips to be kissed, a sight which might well make even a Scotch Covenanter grin.  They suck their lips in with a sharp hissing