Ottumwa semi-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1899-1903, 1900-01-04
A TALE OF LIFE in THE
BOER REPUBLIC.

The stranger looked from beneath
his sleepy eyelids at the brown earth
that stretched away, beautiful in spite
of itself, in that June sunshine; looked
Mt the graves, the gables of the farm
house showing over the stone walls of
the camps, at the clownish fellow at
his feet, and yawned. But he had
drunk of the kinds tea and must say
something.
"Your fathers place, presume?' he
inquired sleepily.
mo; am only servant
Clutch people"
EYES,
"And you like the life2'
The boy hesitated.
ION days like these"
"And why on these?"
The boy waited.
'"They are very beautiful"
The stranger looked at him. 1t SEEM
ed that as the fellows dark eyes look
ed across the brown earth they kim
died With an intense satisfaction. Then
they looked back at the carving
What had that creature, so coarse
clad and clownish, to do with the sub
tie joys of the weather? Himself,
white handed and delicate, he might
hear the music which shimmering sun
shine and solitude play on the finely
strung chords of nature, but that fell
low! Was not the ear in that great
body too gross for such delicate NUT
terings?
Presently he said:
May see what you work at?''.
The fellow handed his wooden post.
1t was by no means lovely. The men
and birds were almost grotesque in
their labored resemblance to nature
and bore signs of patient thought.
The stranger turned the thing over on
his knee.
Where did you learn this work."
Il taught myself"
"And these zigzag lines represent
ga mountain"
The stranger looked.
ut has some meaning, has it not?
The boy muttered confusedly:
"Only things
The questioner looked down at him
the huge, unwieldy figure, in size a
mans, in right of it's childlike fea.
lures and curling hair child's-and it
hurt him. 1t attracted him. and it
hurt him. 1t was something between
pity and sympathy.
"Row long have you worked at
thisY'
mine months"
From his pocket the stranger drew
his pocketbook and took something
from it. He could fasten the post to
his horse in some way and throw it
away in the sand when at safe dis
lance.
"Will you take this for your carv-
ing?"
The boy glanced at the f5 note and
shook his head.
"NO; cannot"
"You think ID is worth more?" asked
the stranger, with little sheer.
He pointed with his thumb to a
grave.
''No; it is for him."
"And who is there?" asked the stran-
ger.
"My father"
The man silently returned the note
to his pocketbook and gave the carv-
ing to the boy and, drawing his hat
over his eyes, composed himself to
sleep. Not being able to do SO, after
awhile he glanced over the fellows
shoulder to watch him work. The boy
carved letters into the back.
If" said the stranger, with his
melodious voice, rich with sweetness
that never showed itself in the clouded
eyes, for sweetness will linger on in
the voice after it has died out in the
eyes-"if for such a purpose, why
write that upon it!"
The boy glanced at him, but made
no answer. He had almost forgotten
his presence.
"You surely believe" said the stran-
ger. that some day. sooner or later,
these graves will open and those Boer
uncles with their wives walk about
here in the red sand with the very
fleshly legs with which they went to
sleep? Then why say, He sleeps for
ever? You believe he will stand up
again?"
DO you" asked the boy, lifting for
an instant his heavy eyes to the stran-
gers face.
Half taken aback. the stranger laugh
ed. 1t was as though curious little
tadpole which he held under his glass
should suddenly lift it's tail and begin
toquestion him.
II? No" He laughed his short,
thick laugh. II am man who be-
lieves nothing, hopes nothing, fears
nothing, feels nothing. am beyond
the pale of humanity, no criterion of
what you should be who live here
among your ostriches and bushes"
The next moment the stranger was
surprised by a sudden movement on
the part Of the fellow, which brought