Elsie's heart again bounded with delight as she and Kanu hurried along
the street. They reached the building indicated by the black boy. It
had a large doorway opening to the street on the ground floor; several
wagons drawn by horses stood before it,--some full of bales and boxes,--
others empty. Kanu led the way in between the scattered parcels of
merchandise and paused before a stout man who was making entries in a
note-book.
"Please, Mynheer, is the Governor in?" asked the trembling Bushman.
The stout man glanced carelessly and contemptuously at his interlocutor.
Then, having finished his entries, he closed his pocket-book, put it
hurriedly into his pocket, and strode away. Just then a truck heavily
laden with sacks was trundled in at the door; Kanu quickly dragged the
child aside and just saved her from being knocked down and run over. A
big Malay seized Elsie roughly by the arm and dragged her into the
street; then he returned, caught Kanu by the neck and flung him after
her.
"Here," he said, "take your white brat away; you all know that we don't
allow beggars here."
The two belated wanderers drew a little to one side to avoid the traffic
and stood in silent and astonished desolation. In obedience to Elsie's
prompting, Kanu accosted several of the passers with his now stereotyped
enquiry about the Governor. As a rule no attention was paid to his
question. One or two answered him with jibes. At length a coloured man
answered him kindly, telling him that the house opposite was a store,
and that the Governor did not live anywhere in the neighbourhood. He
added significantly that they had better move on, or else he might get
into trouble. Kanu asked what trouble would be likely to come upon
them. The man replied that he might be whipped and added that his
companion's hair might be cut off. The threat of whipping filled the
sensitive-skinned Bushman with terror. He seized Elsie's hand and
hurried away.
By this time the sun had gone down behind the Lion's Head, and the
streets were full of people. The dismayed pair wandered about, sick
with perplexity. Poor Kanu had been utterly demoralised by the threat
of the whip, and Elsie could not, for a long time, induce him to accost
any of the people they met. When he did so the result was the same as
previously; no one would take his enquiry seriously.
Their random steps took them to a quarter of the town where people of
mixed race dwelt in low-built houses. The streets were full of bands of
shouting boys, who jostled them and jeered annoyingly.
A stout coloured woman was standing at the door of a little shop, the
stock-in-trade of which appeared to be composed principally of stale,
unwholesome-looking fruit. Some spell of kindness in the woman's homely
face caused Kanu to pause. Then the woman addressed Elsie in Dutch, in
a kind voice, and the tired child bent her head and burst into a passion
of tears.
The woman drew Elsie into the shop and tried to comfort her, but it was
long before the child's pent-up woe, terror and disappointment had spent
themselves. At length, when exhaustion had brought calmness, Elsie
murmured that she wanted to see the Governor. The woman at once looked
askance at her, suspecting that she was mad. But in a moment her look
softened and her eyes became moist. Then the kind creature drew the
child into a little room at the side of the shop and laid her tenderly
on a bed. Elsie became calmer, so the woman drew off the tattered shoes
and wept over the poor, lacerated feet. She covered the poor waif up
with a soft patchwork quilt, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing her
sink into a deep sleep.
The woman then went out to the shop, where Kanu was lying exhausted on
the floor. She questioned him closely--and afterwards angrily, but the
Bushman was proof against her cross-examination. All she could elicit
from him was that they had come from a great distance and that they
wanted to see the Governor about an important matter.
The woman stole back into the room on tip-toe, and gazed at the sleeping
child. Made paler by sleep the face of Elsie looked like that of a
corpse. Her hair lay in a glowing, tangled mass on the pillow; the
gazer picked up one of the tresses and examined it with reverent wonder.
Then she left the room, closed the door softly, shut up the shop and
went to her kitchen for the purpose of concocting some strong broth.
It was late when Elsie woke. Her hostess was sitting at the bedside.
She soothed the child, gave her a drink of warm broth and made her lie
down again. Then the woman crept into the bed, and the two slumbered
together until morning. Kanu had been accommodated with a sack in the
kitchen and a supper of fruit which had become unsaleable stock.
At early dawn the woman arose, leaving Elsie still sleeping. She went
to the kitchen and lit a large fire, over which she placed a capacious
pot of water. Then she fetched a wooden tub and laid it noiselessly in
the bedroom. When Elsie awoke she found a good cup of coffee and a
biscuit ready for her. These she consumed with a good appetite.
It was in preparing her for the bath that the woman found out that the
child was blind. Then her pity overcame her so that she sobbed aloud.
She had lost her own only child, a girl of about Elsie's age, a few
years previously. After Elsie had bathed, the woman went to a cupboard
and fetched out what was her greatest treasure,--the clothes of her dead
child, which she had folded carefully away interspersed with aromatic
herbs to keep out the moth. With the best of the garments she clothed
her little guest. Then, after dressing the lacerated feet, she wrapped
them in clean strips of linen, and put shoes and stockings which would
have been much too large under other circumstances, upon them. This
done, she combed out the child's hair, marvelling audibly at its length
and richness.
Elsie could no longer resist the importunities of her kind friend, so
she told her story,--how her dearly-loved father was in prison,
suffering for a crime he had never committed; how she and Kanu were the
only ones who could establish his innocence; how they had run away and
wandered thither over mountain and desert plain for the purpose of
seeing the great English Governor and obtaining justice.
The woman did not know what to make of it. The places named were
strange to her; the whole thing seemed uncanny. The extraordinary tale
of the shooting, the child's blindness,--her wonderful tresses,--the
savage, wild-animal look of her diminutive protector,--his language--an
outlandish click-mingled corruption of an already corrupt patois--it was
quite beyond the good soul's imaginative range, so she gave up the
problem with a sigh and redoubled her tenderness to Elsie.
After breakfast Elsie and Kanu again wandered forth on their pathetic
quest. The woman tried her very best to induce Elsie to remain, and let
Kanu endeavour to locate the Governor's dwelling as a preliminary
measure. She herself could give no information on the subject, nor
could any of the neighbours of whom she enquired. She made Elsie
promise to return if her search proved unsuccessful.
This woman was a lonely soul, with nothing to love, and Elsie had made a
way straight to her heart. She exultingly made up her mind to adopt the
child, knowing that the latter, even if she succeeded in finding the
Governor's house, would never be let in by the attendants. Therefore
she made sure that her guests would return in the evening. All day long
she could think of nothing but Elsie, the silky richness of whose yellow
hair seemed to adhere to her dusky fingers and to lie like chrysm upon
her charitable palm.
That day the little shop and dwelling was swept and garnished as it had
never been since the death of the woman's own child. Clean sheets were
placed upon the bed and a new and more wonderful patchwork quilt was
unearthed from the depths of the press and spread out in all its glory.
As evening drew near she cooked a dainty little supper; the child would
surely return hungry after her walk.
The hour at which the visitors had arrived on the previous day drew on.
Supper was ready,--done to a turn,--and the woman stood before her
doorway, anxiously scanning the street, up and down. The neighbourhood
had grown loud with the strident tones of squalid children, rushing
about in bands at uncouth games as was their wont. The darkness came
but there was no sign of the missing guests.
The night drew on and the noises died down in the streets, until almost
utter silence reigned. When midnight struck in the spire of the distant
church, the disappointed woman sadly closed the door. She sat in the
shop for a while longer, her ear alert for the footstep her heart
yearned for. Then she put out the light and went weeping to bed,
leaving the untasted supper on the table.