that make marriage.  Still, this is bold talk, for which any reverend predicant would reprove me, for if young folk acted on it, although the tie might hold good in law, what would become of his fee?  Come, let us seek the commandant and hear what he has to say.  Allan, pull me up off this stool, where, if I had my way, after so much travelling, I should like to sit while a house was built over my head and for the rest of my life.”

I obeyed, not without difficulty, and we went to find Retief.

At the moment he was standing alone, watching two wagons that had just trekked away.  These contained his wife with other members of his family, and some friends whom he was sending, under the charge of the Heer Smit, to a place called Doornkop, that lay at a distance of fifteen miles or more.  At this Doornkop he had already caused a rough house, or rather shed, to be built for the Vrouw Retief’s occupation, thinking that she would be more comfortable and perhaps safer there during his absence than at the crowded camp in a wagon.

“Allemachte!  Allan,” he said, catching sight of me, “my heart is sore; I do not know why.  I tell you that when I kissed my old woman good-bye just now I felt as though I should never see her again, and the tears came into my eyes.  I wish we were all safe back from Dingaan.  But there, there, I will try to get over to see her to-morrow, as we don’t start till Monday.  What is it that you want, Allan, with that ’mooi mesje’ of yours?”—­and he pointed to the tall Marie.

“What would any man want with such a one, save to marry her?” broke in the Vrouw Prinsloo.  “Now, commandant, listen while I set out the tale.”

“All right, aunt, only be brief, for I have no time to spare.”

She obeyed, but I cannot say that she was brief.

When at last the old lady paused, breathless, Retief said: 

“I understand everything; there is no need for you young people to talk.  Now we will go and see Henri Marais, and, if he is not madder than usual, make him listen to reason.”

So we walked to where Marais’s wagon stood at the end of the line, and found him sitting on the disselboom cutting up tobacco with his pocket-knife.

“Good-day, Allan,” he said, for we had not met since my return.  “Have you had a nice journey?”

I was about to answer when the commandant broke in impatiently: 

“See here, see here, Henri, we have not come to talk about Allan’s journey, but about his marriage, which is more important.  He rides with me to Zululand on Monday, as you do, and wants to wed your daughter to-morrow, which is Sunday, a good day for the deed.”

“It is a day to pray, not to give and be given in marriage,” commented Marais sulkily.  “Moreover, Marie does not come of age before Monday, and until then the oath that I made to God holds.”

“My vatdoek for your oath!” exclaimed the vrouw, flapping that awful rag in his face.  “How much do you suppose that God cares what you in your folly swore to that stinkcat of a nephew of yours?  Do you be careful, Henri Marais, that God does not make of your precious oath a stone to fall upon your head and break it like a peanut-shell.”