第7章

"Yes，beupearly，myboy，"interruptedBonaparte，smiling。"Iamtobemasterofthisfarmnow；andweshallbegoodfriends，Itrust，verygoodfriends，ifyoutrytodoyourduty，mydearboy。"

Waldoturnedtogo，andBonaparte，lookingbenignlyatthecandle，stretchedoutoneunstockingedfoot，overwhichWaldo，lookingatnothinginparticular，fellwithaheavythuduponthefloor。

"Dearme！Ihopeyouarenothurt，myboy，"saidBonaparte。"You’llhavemanyaharderthingthanthatthough，beforeyou’vegonethroughlife，"headdedconsolingly，asWaldopickedhimselfup。

TheleanHottentotlaughedtilltheroomrangagain；andTantSannietitteredtillhersidesached。

WhenhehadgonethelittlemaidbegantowashBonaparte’sfeet。

"Oh，Lord，belovedLord，howhedidfall！Ican’tthinkofit，"criedTantSannie，andshelaughedagain。"Ialwaysdidknowhewasnotright；butthiseveninganyonecouldseeit，"sheadded，wipingthetearsofmirthfromherface。"Hiseyesareaswildasifthedevilwasinthem。Heneverwaslikeotherchildren。ThedearLordknows，ifhedoesn’twalkaloneforhourstalkingtohimself。Ifyousitintheroomwithhimyoucanseehislipsmovingthewholetime；andifyoutalktohimtwentytimeshedoesn’thearyou。Daft—eyes；he’sasmadasmadcanbe。"

ThisrepetitionofthewordmadconveyedmeaningtoBonaparte’smind。Heleftoffpaddlinghistoesinthewater。

"Mad，mad？Iknowthatkindofmad，"saidBonaparte，"andIknowthethingtogiveforit。Thefrontendofalittlehorsewhip，thetip！Nicething；

takesitout，"saidBonaparte。

TheHottentotlaughed，andtranslated。

"Nomorewalkingaboutandtalkingtothemselvesonthisfarmnow，"saidBonaparte；"nomoremindingofsheepandreadingofbooksatthesametime。

Thepointofahorsewhipisalittlething，butIthinkhe’llhaveatasteofitbeforelong。"Bonaparterubbedhishandsandlookedpleasantlyacrosshisnose；andthenthethreelaughedtogethergrimly。

AndWaldoinhiscabincrouchedinthedarkinacorner，withhiskneesdrawnuptohischin。

Chapter1。X。HeShowsHisTeeth。

Dosssatamongthekaroobushes，oneyelloweardrawnoverhiswickedlittleeye，readytoflapawayanyadventurousflythatmightsettleonhisnose。Aroundhiminthemorningsunlightfedthesheep；behindhimlayhismasterpolishinghismachine。Hefoundmuchcomfortinhandlingitthatmorning。Adozenphilosophicalessays，orangelicallyatunedsongsfortheconsolationofthebereaved，couldneverhavebeentohimwhatthatlittlesheep—shearingmachinewasthatday。

Afterstrugglingtoseetheunseeable，growingdrunkwiththeendeavourtospantheinfinite，andwrithingbeforetheinscrutablemystery，itisarenovatingrelieftoturntosomesimple，feelable，weighablesubstance；tosomethingwhichhasasmellandacolour，whichmaybehandledandturnedoverthiswayandthat。Whethertherebeorbenotahereafter，whethertherebeanyuseincallingaloudtotheUnseenpower，whethertherebeanUnseenpowertocallto，whateverbethetruenatureofthe"I"whocallandoftheobjectsaroundme，whateverbeourmeaning，ourinternalessence，ourcause（andinacertainorderofmindsdeathandtheagonyoflossinevitablyawakenthewilddesire，atothertimessmothered，tolookintothesethings），whateverbethenatureofthatwhichliesbeyondtheunbrokenwallwhichthelimitsofthehumanintellectbuilduponeveryhand，thisthingiscertain——aknifewillcutwood，andonecoggedwheelwillturnanother。Thisissure。

Waldofoundanimmeasurablesatisfactioninthehandlingofhismachine；

butDosswinkedandblinked，andthoughtitallfrightfullymonotonousoutthereontheflat，andpresentlydroppedasleep，sittingboltupright。

Suddenlyhiseyesopenedwide；somethingwascomingfromthedirectionofthehomestead。Winkinghiseyesandlookingintently，heperceiveditwasthegreymare。NowDosshadwonderedmuchoflatewhathadbecomeofhermaster。Seeingshecarriedsomeoneonherback，henowcametohisownconclusion，andbegantomovehistailviolentlyupanddown。Presentlyheprickeduponeearandlettheotherhang；histailbecamemotionless，andtheexpressionofhismouthwasoneofdecideddisapprovalborderingonscorn。Hewrinkledhislipsuponeachsideintolittlelines。

Thesandwassoft，andthegreymarecameonsonoiselesslythattheboyheardnothingtillBonapartedismounted。ThenDossgotupandmovedbackastep。HedidnotapproveofBonaparte’sappearance。Hiscostume，intruth，wasofauniquekind。Itwasacombinationofthetownandcountry。

Thetailsofhisblackclothcoatwerepinnedupbehindtokeepthemfromrubbing；hehadonapairofmoleskintrousersandleathergaiters，andinhishandhecarriedalittlewhipofrhinoceroshide。

Waldostartedandlookedup。Hadtherebeenamoment’stimehewouldhavedugaholeinthesandwithhishandsandburiedhistreasure。Itwasonlyatoyofwood，buthelovedit，asoneofnecessityloveswhathasbeenbornofhim，whetherofthefleshorspirit。Whencoldeyeshavelookedatit，thefeathersarerubbedoffourbutterfly’swingforever。

"Whathaveyouhere，mylad？"saidBonaparte，standingbyhim，andpointingwiththeendofhiswhiptothemedleyofwheelsandhinges。

Theboymutteredsomethinginaudible，andhalfspreadoverthething。

"Butthisseemstobeaveryingeniouslittlemachine，"saidBonaparte，seatinghimselfontheantheap，andbendingdownoveritwithdeepinterest。"Whatisitfor，mylad？"

"Shearingsheep。"

"Itisaverynicelittlemachine，"saidBonaparte。"Howdoesitwork，now？Ihaveneverseenanythingsoingenious！"

Therewasneveraparentwhohearddeceptioninthevoicethatpraisedhischild——hisfirst—born。Herewasonewholikedthethingthathadbeencreatedinhim。Heforgoteverything。Heshowedhowtheshearswouldworkwithalittleguidance，howthesheepwouldbeheld，andthewoolfallintothetrough。Aflushburstoverhisfaceashespoke。

"Itellyouwhat，mylad，"saidBonaparteemphatically，whentheexplanationwasfinished，"wemustgetyouapatent。Yourfortuneismade。

Inthreeyears’timethere’llnotbeafarminthiscolonywhereitisn’tworking。You’reagenius，that’swhatyouare！"saidBonaparte，rising。

"Ifitweremadelarger，"saidtheboy，raisinghiseyes，"itwouldworkmoresmoothly。Doyouthinktherewouldbeanyoneinthiscolonywouldbeabletomakeit？"

"I’msuretheycould，"saidBonaparte；"andifnot，whyI’lldomybestforyou。I’llsendittoEngland。Itmustbedonesomehow。Howlonghaveyouworkedatit？"

"Ninemonths，"saidtheboy。

"Oh，itissuchanicelittlemachine，"saidBonaparte，"onecan’thelpfeelinganinterestinit。Thereisonlyonelittleimprovement，oneverylittleimprovement，Ishouldliketomake。"

Bonaparteputhisfootonthemachineandcrusheditintothesand。Theboylookedupintohisface。

"Looksbetternow，"saidBonaparte，"doesn’tit？Ifwecan’thaveitmadeinEnglandwe’llsendittoAmerica。Good—bye；ta—ta，"headded。"You’reagreatgenius，aborngenius，mydearboy，there’snodoubtaboutit。"

Hemountedthegreymareandrodeoff。Thedogwatchedhisretreatwithcynicalsatisfaction；buthismasterlayonthegroundwithhisheadonhisarmsinthesand，andthelittlewheelsandchipsofwoodlayonthegroundaroundhim。Thedogjumpedontohisbackandsnappedattheblackcurls，till，findingthatnonoticewastaken，hewalkedofftoplaywithablackbeetle。Thebeetlewashardatworktryingtorollhomeagreatballofdungithadbeencollectingallthemorning：butDossbroketheball，andatethebeetle’shindlegs，andthenbitoffitshead。Anditwasallplay，andnoonecouldtellwhatithadlivedandworkedfor。Astriving，andastriving，andanendinginnothing。

Chapter1。XI。HeSnaps。

"Ihavefoundsomethingintheloft，"saidEmtoWaldo，whowaslistlesslypilingcakesoffuelonthekraalwall，aweekafter。"Itisaboxofbooksthatbelongedtomyfather。WethoughtTantSanniehadburntthem。"

Theboyputdownthecakehewasraisingandlookedather。

"Idon’tthinktheyareverynice，notstories，"sheadded，"butyoucangoandtakeanyyoulike。"

Sosaying，shetookuptheplateinwhichshehadbroughthisbreakfast，andwalkedofftothehouse。

Afterthattheboyworkedquickly。ThepileoffuelBonapartehadorderedhimtopackwasonthewallinhalfanhour。Hethenwenttothrowsaltontheskinslaidouttodry。Findingthepotempty，hewenttothelofttorefillit。

BonaparteBlenkins，whosedooropenedatthefootoftheladder，sawtheboygoup，andstoodinthedoorwaywaitingforhisreturn。Hewantedhisbootsblacked。Doss，findinghecouldnotfollowhismasteruptheroundbars，satpatientlyatthefootoftheladder。Presentlyhelookeduplongingly，butnooneappeared。ThenBonapartelookedupalso，andbegantocall；buttherewasnoanswer。Whatcouldtheboybedoing？TheloftwasanunknownlandtoBonaparte。Hehadoftenwonderedwhatwasupthere；

helikedtoknowwhatwasinalllocked—upplacesandout—of—the—waycorners，buthewasafraidtoclimbtheladder。SoBonapartelookedup，andinthenameofallthatwastantalizing，questionedwhattheboydidupthere。Theloftwasusedonlyasalumber—room。Whatcouldthefellowfinduptheretokeephimsolong？

CouldtheBoer—womanhavebeheldWaldoatthatinstant，anylingeringdoubtwhichmighthaveremainedinhermindastotheboy’sinsanitywouldinstantlyhavevanished。For，havingfilledthesalt—pot，heproceededtolookfortheboxofbooksamongtherubbishthatfilledtheloft。Underapileofsackshefoundit——aroughpacking—case，nailedup，butwithonelooseplank。Heliftedthat，andsawtheevenbacksofarowofbooks。Hekneltdownbeforethebox，andranhishandalongitsroughedges，asiftoassurehimselfofitsexistence。Hestuckhishandinamongthebooks，andpulledouttwo。Hefeltthem，thrusthisfingersinamongtheleaves，andcrumpledthemalittle，asaloverfeelsthehairofhismistress。Thefellowgloatedoverhistreasure。Hehadhadadozenbooksinthecourseofhislife；nowherewasamineofthemopenedathisfeet。Afterawhilehebegantoreadthetitles，andnowandagainopenedabookandreadasentence；buthewastooexcitedtocatchthemeaningsdistinctly。Atlasthecametoadull，brownvolume。Hereadthename，openeditinthecentre，andwhereheopenedbegantoread。Itwasachapteronpropertythathefellupon——Communism，Fourierism，St。Simonism，inaworkonPoliticalEconomy。Hereaddownonepageandturnedovertothenext；hereaddownthatwithoutchanginghisposturebyaninch；hereadthenext，andthenext，kneelingupallthewhilewiththebookinhishand，andhislipsparted。

Allhereadhedidnotfullyunderstand；thethoughtswerenewtohim；butthiswasthefellow’sstartledjoyinthebook——thethoughtswerehis，theybelongedtohim。Hehadneverthoughtthembefore，buttheywerehis。

Helaughedsilentlyandinternally，withthestillintensityoftriumphantjoy。

So，then，allthinkingcreaturesdidnotsenduptheonecry——"Asthou，dearLord，hascreatedthingsinthebeginning，soaretheynow，sooughttheytobe，sowilltheybe，worldwithoutend；anditdoesn’tconcernuswhattheyare。Amen。"Therewerementowhomnotonlykopjesandstoneswerecallingoutimperatively，"Whatarewe，andhowcamewehere？

Understandus，andknowus；"buttowhomeventheold，oldrelationsbetweenmanandman，andthecustomsoftheagescalled，andcouldnotbemadestillandforgotten。

Theboy’sheavybodyquiveredwithexcitement。Sohewasnotalone，notalone。Hecouldnotquitehavetoldanyonewhyhewassoglad，andthiswarmthhadcometohim。Hischeekswereburning。NowonderthatBonapartecalledinvain，andDossputhispawsontheladder，andwhinedtillthree—

quartersofanhourhadpassed。Atlasttheboyputthebookinhisbreastandbuttonedittightlytohim。Hetookupthesaltpot，andwenttothetopoftheladder。Bonaparte，withhishandsfoldedunderhiscoat—tails，lookedupwhenheappeared，andaccostedhim。

"You’vebeenratheralongtimeupthere，mylad，"hesaid，astheboydescendedwithatremuloushaste，mostunlikehisordinaryslowmovements。

"Youdidn’thearmecalling，Isuppose？"

Bonapartewhiskedthetailsofhiscoatupanddownashelookedathim。

He，BonaparteBlenkins，hadeyeswhichwereveryfar—seeing。Helookedatthepot。Itwasratherasmallpottohavetakenthree—quartersofanhourinthefilling。Helookedattheface。Itwasflushed。Andyet，TantSanniekeptnowine——hehadnotbeendrinking；hiseyeswerewideopenandbright——hehadnotbeensleeping；therewasnogirlupthere——hehadnotbeenmakinglove。Bonapartelookedathimsagaciously。Whatwouldaccountforthemarvellouschangeintheboycomingdowntheladderfromtheboygoinguptheladder？Onethingtherewas。DidnotTantSanniekeepintheloftbultongs，andnicesmokedsausages？Theremustbesomethingnicetoeatupthere！Aha！thatwasit！

Bonapartewassointerestedincarryingoutthischainofinductivereasoningthathequiteforgottohavehisbootsblacked。

Hewatchedtheboyshuffleoffwiththesalt—potunderhisarm；thenhestoodinhisdoorwayandraisedhiseyestothequietbluesky，andaudiblypropoundedthisriddletohimself：

"Whatistheconnectionbetweenthenakedbackofacertainboywithagreatcoatonandasalt—potunderhisarm，andthetipofahorsewhip？

Answer：Noconnectionatpresent，buttherewillbesoon。"

Bonapartewassopleasedwiththissallyofhiswitthathechuckledalittleandwenttoliedownonhisbed。

Therewasbread—bakingthatafternoon，andtherewasafirelightedinthebrickovenbehindthehouse，andTantSanniehadleftthegreatwooden—

elbowedchairinwhichshepassedherlife，andwaddledouttolookatit。

NotfaroffwasWaldo，who，havingthrownapailoffoodintothepigsty，nowleanedoverthesodwalllookingatthepigs。Halfofthestywasdry，butthelowerhalfwasapoolofmud，ontheedgeofwhichthemothersowlaywithclosedeyes，hertenlittleonessucking；thefatherpig，knee—

deepinthemud，stoodrunninghissnoutintoarottenpumpkinandwrigglinghiscurledtail。

Waldowondereddreamilyashestaredwhytheywerepleasanttolookat。

Takensinglytheywerenotbeautiful；takentogethertheywere。Wasitnotbecausetherewasacertainharmonyaboutthem？Theoldsowwassuitedtothelittlepigs，andthelittlepigstotheirmother，theoldboartotherottenpumpkin，andalltothemud。Theysuggestedthethoughtofnothingthatshouldbeadded，ofnothingthatshouldbetakenaway。And，hewonderedonvaguely，wasnotthatthesecretofallbeauty，thatyouwholookon——Sohestooddreaming，andleanedfurtherandfurtheroverthesodwall，andlookedatthepigs。

AllthistimeBonaparteBlenkinswasslopingdownfromthehouseinanaimlesssortofway；buthekeptoneeyefixedonthepigsty，andeachgyrationbroughthimnearertoit。WaldostoodlikeathingasleepwhenBonapartecamecloseuptohim。

Inolddays，whenasmallboy，playinginanIrishstreet—gutter，he，Bonaparte，hadbeenfamiliarlyknownamonghiscomradesunderthetitleofTrippingBen；this，fromtherareeaseanddexteritywithwhich，bymerelyprojectinghisfoot，hecouldprecipitateanyunfortunatecompanionontothecrownofhishead。Yearshadelapsed，andTrippingBenhadbecomeBonaparte；buttheoldgiftwasinhimstill。Hecameclosetothepigsty。

Allthedefunctmemoriesofhisboyhoodreturnedonhiminaflood，as，withanadroitmovement，heinsertedhislegbetweenWaldoandthewallandsenthimoverintothepigsty。

Thelittlepigswerestartledatthestrangeintruder，andranbehindtheirmother，whosniffedathim。TantSanniesmoteherhandstogetherandlaughed；butBonapartewasfarfromjoiningher。Lostinreverie，hegazedatthedistanthorizon。

ThesuddenreversalofheadandfeethadthrownoutthevolumethatWaldocarriedinhisbreast。Bonapartepickeditupandbegantoinspectit，astheboyclimbedslowlyoverthewall。Hewouldhavewalkedoffsullenly，buthewantedhisbook，andhewaiteduntilitshouldbegivenhim。

"Ha！"saidBonaparte，raisinghiseyesfromtheleavesofthebookwhichhewasexamining，"Ihopeyourcoathasnotbeeninjured；itisofanelegantcut。Anheirloom，Ipresume，fromyourpaternalgrandfather？Itlooksnicenow。"

"Oh，Lord！oh！Lord！"criedTantSannie，laughingandholdinghersides；

howthechildlooks——asthoughhethoughtthemudwouldneverwashoff。

Oh，Lord，Ishalldie！You，Bonaparte，arethefunniestmanIeversaw。"

BonaparteBlenkinswasnowcarefullyinspectingthevolumehehadpickedup。Amongthesubjectsonwhichthedarknessofhisunderstandinghadbeenenlightenedduringhisyouth，PoliticalEconomyhadnotbeenone。Hewasnot，therefore，veryclearastowhatthenatureofthebookmightbe；andasthenameofthewriter，J。S。Mill，might，foranythingheknewtothecontrary，havebelongedtoavenerablememberoftheBritishandForeignBibleSociety，itbynomeansthrewlightuponthequestion。HewasnotinanywaysurethatPoliticalEconomyhadnothingtodowiththecheapestwayofprocuringclothingforthearmyandnavy，whichwouldbecertainlybothapoliticalandeconomicalsubject。

ButBonapartesooncametoaconclusionastothenatureofthebookanditscontents，bytheapplicationofasimplerulenowlargelyactedupon，butwhich，becominguniversal，wouldsavemuchthoughtandvaluabletime。

Itisofmarvelloussimplicity，ofinfiniteutility，ofuniversalapplicability。Itmayeasilybecommittedtomemoryandrunsthus：

Wheneveryoucomeintocontactwithanybook，person，oropinionofwhichyouabsolutelycomprehendnothing，declarethatbook，personoropiniontobeimmoral。Bespatterit，vituperateagainstit，stronglyinsistthatanymanorwomanharbouringitisafooloraknave，orboth。Carefullyabstainfromstudyingit。Doallthatinyouliestoannihilatethatbook，person，oropinion。

Actingonthisrule，sowideinitscomprehensiveness，sobeautifullysimpleinitsworking，BonaparteapproachedTantSanniewiththebookinhishand。Waldocameastepnearer，eyeingitlikeadogwhoseyounghasfallenintoevilhands。

"Thisbook，"saidBonaparte，"isnotafitandproperstudyforayoungandimmaturemind。"

TantSanniedidnotunderstandaword，andsaid：

"What？"

"Thisbook，"saidBonaparte，bringingdownhisfingerwithenergyonthecover，"thisbookissleg，sleg，Davel，Davel！"

TantSannieperceivedfromthegravityofhiscountenancethatitwasnolaughingmatter。Fromthewords"sleg"and"Davel"sheunderstoodthatthebookwasevil，andhadsomeconnectionwiththeprincewhopullsthewiresofeviloverthewholeearth。

"Wheredidyougetthisbook？"sheasked，turninghertwinklinglittleeyesonWaldo。"IwishthatmylegsmaybeasthinasanEnglishman’sifitisn’toneofyourfather’s。HehadmoresinsthanalltheKaffersinKafferland，forallthathepretendedtobesogoodallthoseyears，andtolivewithoutawifebecausehewasthinkingoftheonethatwasdead！Asthoughtendeadwivescouldmakeupforonefatonewitharmsandlegs！"

criedTantSannie，snorting。

"Itwasnotmyfather’sbook，"saidtheboysavagely。"Igotitfromyourloft。"

"Myloft！mybook！Howdareyou？"criedTantSannie。

"ItwasEm’sfather’s。Shegaveitme，"hemutteredmoresullenly。

"Giveithere。Whatisthenameofit？Whatisitabout？"sheasked，puttingherfingeruponthetitle。

Bonaparteunderstood。

"PoliticalEconomy，"hesaidslowly。

"DearLord！"saidTantSannie，"cannotonehearfromtheverysoundwhatanungodlybookitis！Onecanhardlysaythename。Haven’twegotcursesenoughonthisfarm？"criedTantSannie，eloquently；"mybestimportedMerinoramdyingofnobodyknowswhat，andtheshort—horncowcastinghertwocalves，andthesheepeatenupwiththescabandthedrought？Andisthisatimetobringungodlythingsabouttheplace，tocalldownthevengeanceofAlmightyGodtopunishusmore？Didn’ttheministertellmewhenIwasconfirmednottoreadanybookexceptmyBibleandhymn—book，thatthedevilwasinalltherest？AndIneverhavereadanyotherbook，"

saidTantSanniewithvirtuousenergy，"andIneverwill！"

Waldosawthatthefateofhisbookwassealed，andturnedsullenlyonhisheel。

"SoyouwillnotstaytohearwhatIsay！"criedTantSannie。"There，takeyourPolity—gollity—gominy，yourdevil’sbook！"shecried，flingingthebookathisheadwithmuchenergy。

Itmerelytouchedhisforeheadononesideandfelltotheground。

"Goon，"shecried；"Iknowyouaregoingtotalktoyourself。Peoplewhotalktothemselvesalwaystalktothedevil。Goandtellhimallaboutit。

Go，go！run！"criedTantSannie。

Buttheboyneitherquickenednorslackenedhispace，andpassedsullenlyroundthebackofthewagon—house。

Bookshavebeenthrownatotherheadsbeforeandsincethatsummerafternoon，byhandsmorewhiteanddelicatethanthoseoftheBoer—woman；

butwhethertheresultoftheprocesshasbeeninanycasewhollysatisfactory，maybequestioned。Welovethatwithapeculiartenderness，wetreasureitwithapeculiarcare，ithasforusquiteafictitiousvalue，forwhichwehavesuffered。Ifwemaynotcarryitanywhereelsewewillcarryitinourhearts，andalwaystotheend。

BonaparteBlenkinswenttopickupthevolume，nowloosenedfromitscover，whileTantSanniepushedthestumpsofwoodfurtherintotheoven。

Bonapartecameclosetoher，tappedthebookknowingly，nodded，andlookedatthefire。TantSanniecomprehended，and，takingthevolumefromhishand，threwitintothebackoftheoven。Itlayupontheheapofcoals，smoked，flared，andblazed，andthe"PoliticalEconomy"wasnomore——goneoutofexistence，likemanyanotherpoorhereticoffleshandblood。

Bonapartegrinned，andtowatchtheprocessbroughthisfacesoneartheovendoorthatthewhitehaironhiseyebrowsgotsinged。Hetheninquirediftherewereanymoreintheloft。

Learningthattherewere，hemadesignsindicativeoftakinguparmfulsandflingingthemintothefire。ButTantSanniewasdubious。ThedeceasedEnglishmanhadleftallhispersonaleffectsspeciallytohischild。ItwasallverywellforBonapartetotalkofburningthebooks。Hehadhadhishairspirituallypulled，andshehadnowishtorepeathisexperience。

Sheshookherhead。Bonapartewasdispleased。Butthenahappythoughtoccurredtohim。Hesuggestedthatthekeyoftheloftshouldhenceforthbeputintohisownsafecareandkeeping——noonegainingpossessionofitwithouthispermission。TothisTantSanniereadilyassented，andthetwowalkedlovinglytothehousetolookforit。

Chapter1。XII。HeBites。

BonaparteBlenkinswasridinghomeonthegreymare。Hehadriddenoutthatafternoon，partlyforthebenefitofhishealth，partlytomaintainhischaracterasoverseerofthefarm。Asherodeonslowly，hethoughtfullytouchedtheearsofthegreymarewithhiswhip。

"No，Bon，myboy，"headdressedhimself，"don’tpropose！Youcan’tmarryforfouryears，onaccountofthewill；thenwhypropose？Wheedleher，tweedleher，teedleher，butdon’tlethermakesureofyou。Whenawoman，"saidBonaparte，sagelyrestinghisfingeragainstthesideofhisnose，"Whenawomanissureofyoushedoeswhatshelikeswithyou；butwhensheisn’t，youdowhatyoulikewithher。AndI——"saidBonaparte。

Herehedrewthehorseupsuddenlyandlooked。Hewasnowclosetothehouse，andleaningoverthepigstywall，incompanywithEm，whowasshowingherthepigs，wasastrangefemalefigure。Itwasthefirstvisitorthathadappearedonthefarmsincehisarrival，andhelookedatherwithinterest。Shewasatall，pudgygirloffifteen，weighingahundredandfiftypounds，withbaggypendulouscheeksandup—turnednose。

ShestrikinglyresembledTantSannie，informandfeature，buthersleepygoodeyeslackedthattwinklethatdweltintheBoer—woman’ssmallorbs。

Shewasattiredinabrightgreenprint，worebrassringsinherearsandglassbeadsroundherneck，andwassuckingthetipofherlargefingerasshelookedatthepigs。