"Another bird killed in the wires!" How familiar any one living on an ostrich farm becomes with these words of woe! Anything, or nothing—the latter indeed more frequently—suffices either to frighten or embolden an ostrich into flinging himself headlong into the nearest fence. The appearance of a strange dog, for instance—and in spite of strict orders the Kaffirs always will bring dogs about the place—is quite certain, whatever may be the view taken of it by the ostrich, to lead but to one result. Say the dog is coming along on the opposite side of the fence. An imbecile boldness and pugnacity straightway inspire the ostrich; he has no eyes for anything but the dog, and, leaving the fence entirely out of his calculations, he makes a mad, blind charge, which lands him well in the wires; and if he is extricated from the latter with unbroken legs, his owner may be congratulated on a very unusual stroke of luck. If, on the other hand, the dog and bird are on the same side of the fence—then, even Burns's mouse had no greater "panic" in his "breastie" than that which impels the senseless biped to dash straight into the wires on his left; though miles of unfenced veldt, along which he might run with safety and soon distance the dog, stretch away to his right. The dog, of course, was not in either case troubling his head about the ostrich; and only wonders what all the commotion is about.

One of T——'s birds performed the "happy despatch" in quite a novel manner. Seeing a tempting quince growing on the further side of a hedge, he squeezed his head and neck through a narrow fork in the branches to reach it. Having secured and eaten his prize, he tried to draw his head back. But what was difficult enough before was now impossible; his neck, bulging with the quince, kept him a prisoner, there was no one at hand to help, and the more he tugged and jumped in the frenzied manner of ostriches when held by the head, the more firmly he stuck. And he was found at last, with his neck broken, and his head, to all intents and purposes, pulled off.

Another ostrich, running up against some projecting ends of wire, tore his throat open; inflicting so deep a gash as to divide the œsophagus. T—— (surgeon as well as everything else a colonist requires to be) went in quest of needle and thread to sew up the wound; and, on returning, found that his patient, having discovered a sack of mealies, was busily helping himself to the contents; though with the unsatisfactory result that the food, as soon as swallowed, tumbled out again through the slit in his throat. Nothing daunted, however, and apparently insensible to pain, the feathered Tantalus continued to feed; wondering no doubt why, having eaten so much, he remained hungry. Thanks to T——'s care, this bird, a rare exception to the general rule of wounded ostriches, actually recovered.

Talking of the ostrich's food-passage, it is rather a curious sight to watch the progress of a large bone, or of a good beakful of mealies, as it travels down the long throat of the bird. During its journey, the large, slowly-moving lump is seen to make the circuit of the whole neck, and while passing round the back of the latter it looks comical indeed. Queer things sometimes find their way down this tortuous passage; the excessive queerness of some of them giving rise to the frequent boast of those persons fortunately able to eat anything, fearless of consequences, that they "have the digestion of an ostrich." But those miscellaneous collections of old bones, glass and china, stones, jewellery, hardware, and odds and ends of all sorts, with which the creature stores his interior, till one is reminded of Mark Twain's "solid dog," fed on paving-stones—far from showing that an ostrich has a good digestion, are necessary to prevent his having a very bad one. They are, of course, simply his teeth, the millstones which grind his food; only they are situated in his stomach instead of in his mouth, and, on an immensely-magnified scale, they only perform the work of those grains of sand with which the little cage-bird keeps himself healthy. Certainly ostriches occasionally show a sad want of discrimination, and make choice of articles which are quite unsuitable for their purpose. The manager's lighted pipe, for instance, was snatched and greedily swallowed by one of our birds before any one could stop him; and for a while the thief was very anxiously watched to see if evil consequences would ensue. Luckily, however, the strange fare did not seem to disagree with him. Another bird picked a gimlet out of a post, in which, for one moment, it had been carelessly left sticking—tossed it down his throat, and was none the worse for it.

Ostriches, like magpies, are attracted by everything bright and glittering; hence the frequent and just complaints brought against them for theft. But their own interior is the only hiding-place where they bestow the precious stones and other articles of jewellery which, whenever they have a chance, they will always steal.

One day, while yet new to the colony, and to the ways of ostriches, I was standing with T——by the side of one of the camps, looking over the fence at the birds, and much amused by the curious, dancing manner in which the creatures moved, as if hung on wires; when suddenly one of them, with a motion as quick as lightning, made a dash at my earring, a little round knob of gold, exactly the size and colour of a mealie (Indian corn seed), for which perhaps he took it; and I only drew back just in time to save it—and probably a piece of the ear with it—from going down his throat.

A newly-arrived gentleman was less fortunate. He, too, was looking over a fence into a camp, when the sharp eye of an ostrich spied a beautiful diamond in his pin, and in an instant the jewel was picked out and swallowed. A kind of court-martial was held on the ostrich; the relative values of himself and of the diamond being accurately calculated, that his judges might decide whether he should live or die. Fortunately for him it was just the time when ostriches were expensive; and his value was estimated at £100, while the diamond was only worth £90. Those £10 saved his life; and the diamond was allowed to remain and perform the part of an extra-good millstone in his interior. Had he waited till the present time to furnish his internal economy thus expensively he would have been very promptly sacrificed. But people should not wear diamonds on ostrich farms.

When, soon after our return from the Cape, we were staying for a time in London, one of our first expeditions was to the Zoo. There, with great delight and amusement, we walked about, looking up one after another of our old South African friends. But it was a cold, gloomy day; and in the houses as well as out of doors the exiles from that sunny land seemed much depressed by their changed conditions of climate. The meerkats, curled up in a half-torpid state, were no longer the merry little rogues they had once been, when in happier days they stood on their hind legs outside their burrows, toasting their little backs in their native sunshine. The baboon was morose; the snakes sleepy; the African buffalo no longer terrible as in the wilds of his old home, but a poor dejected creature, utterly crushed and broken-hearted by long residence under cold, grey skies. Altogether, everything hailing from Austral Africa looked very homesick that dull day, with the sole exception of the secretary bird, which, after a long and persevering search—for old Jacob's sake—we at last succeeded in finding. He was a delightful bird; as tame as our own old friend, and evidently a great favourite with his keeper. We felt wickedly covetous, as the man, pleased at the interest we showed, put the intelligent bird through a number of comical performances, which included the "killing" of a stuffed ratskin, kept for the purpose of displaying how the secretary in his wild state beats to death the mice, lizards, and other creatures on which he feeds.

But where were the ostriches? Just as actors, when they have a holiday, usually spend it in going to the theatre, so, of all the creatures in the Zoo, those we were most anxious to see were the great birds of whose company during the last few years we might reasonably be supposed to have had enough. But no ostriches were to be seen; and the keeper of whom we inquired told us that all were dead. On asking the cause of death, we heard that it was "because the people fed them on pennies." We went to the office of the secretary of the gardens, and found that this statement was really true, and that the post-mortem examination of each poor bird had brought to light a large number of copper coins which had been swallowed. We were glad to hear that any ostriches kept in the gardens in future were to be separated by glass from a public idiotic enough to waste its money in poisoning them.

After this, we were quite able to believe a story told us of how a girl was one day seen at the Zoo, feeding these same unfortunate birds with some ten or twelve pairs of old kid gloves, evidently saved up for the purpose, and presented, one after another, tightly rolled up into a ball; the creatures gulping them down quite as a matter of course, and looking out for more.

CHAPTER VIII.

MEERKATS.

Meerkats plentiful in the Karroo — Their appearance — Intelligence — Fearlessness — Friendship for dogs — A meerkat in England — Meerkat an inveterate thief — An owl in Tangier — Taming full-grown meerkat — Tiny twins — A sad accident — Different characters of meerkats — The turkey-herd — Bob and the meerkat — "The Mouse."

The little meerkats were surely created for the express purpose of being made into pet animals. Certainly no prettier or funnier little live toys could possibly be imagined. Nearly every homestead in the Karroo has its tame meerkat, or more likely two or three, all as much petted and indulged, and requiring as much looking after, as spoilt and mischievous children. In their wild state, these little creatures are gregarious, and live, like the prairie-dogs and biscachas of the Western Continent, in deep holes underground, feeding chiefly on succulent bulbs, which they scratch up with the long, curved, black claws on their fore-feet. They are devoted sun-worshippers; and in the early morning, before it is daylight, they emerge from their burrows, and wait in rows till their divinity appears, when they bask joyfully in his beams. They are very numerous in the Karroo; and as you ride or drive along through the veldt you often come upon little colonies of them, sitting up sunning themselves, and looking, in their quaint and pretty favourite attitude, like tiny dogs begging. As you approach, they look at you fearlessly and impudently, allowing you to come quite close; then, when their confiding manner has tempted you to get down in the wild hope of catching one of them, suddenly all pop so swiftly into their little holes, that they seem to have disappeared by magic.

There are two kinds of meerkats; one red, with a bushy tail like that of a squirrel, the other grey, with a pointed tail, and it is this latter kind which makes so charming a pet. The quaint, old-fashioned little fellow is as neatly made as a small bird; his coat, of the softest fur, with markings not unlike those of a tabby cat, is always well kept and spotlessly clean; his tiny feet, ears, and nose are all most daintily and delicately finished off; and the broad circle of black bordering his large dark eyes serves, like the antimony of an Egyptian beauty, to enhance the size and brilliancy of the orbs. A curious kind of seam, starting from the middle of his chin and running underneath him the whole length of his body, gives him somewhat the appearance of a stuffed animal which has not been very carefully sewn up. His bright, pretty little face is capable of assuming the greatest variety of expressions, that which it most frequently wears when in repose being a contented, self-satisfied smirk; impudence and independence displaying themselves at the same time in every line of his plump little figure. With his large, prominent forehead, giving evidence of the ample brain within, one need not, perhaps, wonder at his being one of the most sagacious of animals; although it is certainly almost startling to find all the intelligence of a dog in a wee thing which you can put in your pocket, or which, if buttoned up on a cold day inside the breast of your ulster, is as likely as not, when tired of that retreat, to squirm out down your sleeve. He is absolutely without fear; and with consummate coolness and audacity will walk up to the largest and most forbidding-looking dog, although a perfect stranger to him, and, carefully investigating the intruder on all sides with great curiosity, express disgust and defiance in a succession of little, short, sharp barks—"quark! quark! quark!" He is soon on the friendliest terms with all the resident dogs in the place; showing a marked preference for those possessing soft, long-haired coats, on which he evidently looks as a provision of nature existing solely for his benefit, and in which, like the little Sybarite that he is, he nestles luxuriously on cold days, chattering and scolding indignantly, with a vicious display of teeth, if the dog, getting up and going away, rudely disturbs his nap. Out of doors he is the inseparable satellite of the dog; and during strolls about the farm—in which, by-the-by, one is often attended by a motley crew of furred and feathered friends—the meerkat is sure to be seen following immediately in the wake of the dog, as closely as the latter follows master and mistress. Even a good long walk does not seem to tire his strong little legs, or, at any rate, if it does he is too plucky to give in and turn back, and as long as the dog keeps going on, he valiantly follows every détour of that animal's erratic course. Often, when starting for a ride or drive, we have been obliged to shut up our meerkat, so determined was he to come with us.

The astonishment of dogs in England at a meerkat brought home by us was most amusing. They would run after him, apparently taking him for some kind of rat; and when, to their amazement, instead of running away, he boldly trotted up to them, and, calmly and somewhat contemptuously surveying them, began to beg, they would hang their heads and draw back, with looks plainly expressive of their opinion that he was "no canny." It was fortunate for him that he inspired them with such awe, for otherwise he would certainly have died the death of a rat on one of the numerous occasions when he got away and wandered on his own account through the Kentish village where we were staying. The human natives whose cottages and shops he invaded, and to whom, with patronizing coolness and colonial absence of ceremony, he introduced himself, were scarcely less puzzled than the dogs at the queer animal we had brought from "foreign parts."

Every meerkat is an inveterate little thief; and if you leave him for one instant where a meal is prepared, you are sure on returning to see him jump guiltily off the table and make for the nearest hiding-place, chattering triumphantly as he goes, like a blackbird caught stealing fruit; an overturned milk-jug, dishes rifled of their contents, and sticky trails of butter, jam, or gravy across the tablecloth, proclaiming how profitably he has used his opportunity. He revels in mischief; and the reckless destructiveness in which he indulges, with no possibility of advantage to himself, but just for the fun of the thing, often brings you to the end of your patience. You vow that you will endure him no longer. You must get rid of him. The great Newton himself could not have pardoned such a constantly-offending Diamond. But the little rogue knows what is passing through your mind; and he knows, too, how to get on the right side of you. He assumes his prettiest attitude and his most benevolent smile; and as he sits bolt upright, turning his little head from side to side with quick, jerky movements, calling to you in the softest and sweetest of the numerous voices with which nature has endowed him, he is so irresistibly comical that, whatever he may have done, you cannot find it in your heart to be wroth with him very long. He is soon restored to favour; and then, to express his extreme contentment, he goes and lies flat on his stomach in the sunshine, with his legs stretched out straight. He is so flat that he seems all poured out over the ground, and looks like an empty skin. What becomes of his bones on these occasions is a constant source of wonder.

The only other creature I have seen capable of so entirely changing its form at a moment's notice was a little owl we have since had in Tangier. This was a delightful pet, full of character and intelligence, though but a tiny thing not more than four inches high—a good part of this height consisting of the two long, ear-like tufts of feathers on the head. The absurd little fellow, who looked like one of the owl pepper-pots come to life, had many amusing ways; but what delighted us most about him was the startling abruptness with which not only his manner, but his whole appearance, even his shape, would change as if by magic, according to his frame of mind. He would sit, for instance, in a contemplative attitude, his eyes sleepily half-closed, his "ears" sticking up very straight, and his body looking extremely long and thin, as long as no one was interfering with him; but once disturb his repose, and instantly he would change his shape and become a fat little ball of soft fluffiness;—a grey powder-puff—with no ears visible, and two great yellow eyes glaring at you with the most ireful expression.

Unfortunately, relying too much on the tameness of our owl, and fearful of spoiling his beauty, we neglected the precaution of cutting one of his wings, in consequence of which we were one day left lamenting this prettiest of North African pets; and though we tried hard to procure another, explaining, with the little amount of Spanish at our command, to all the small boys in Tangier that we wanted "un pajarito con orejas" ("a little bird with ears,") we never looked upon his like again, and I imagine he must have been an uncommon bird.

The best chance of capturing full-grown meerkats is when, during long droughts, little companies of them are travelling in search of water; they often have to go long distances, and when they are thus far from their holes it is possible, though by no means easy, to run one down. In a few days, even if quite old when caught, a meerkat will know his name, come to you when called, or at least answer you with a little soft, bird-like note from whatever corner of the room he may be hiding in; scramble up into your lap, eat out of your hand, and altogether be nearly as tame as one which has been brought up in the house from infancy; though of course there is always the chance that, knowing the joys of liberty, he may some day, like the owl, take it into his head to desert.

T——, riding one day, and encountering a little travelling party of meerkats, gave chase on horseback. One of the animals, a very large, fat one, made for a hole, but found it a tight fit. He stuck fast, and T—— pulled him out ignominiously by the tail, and rode off with him. The mare—a wild, half-broken young thing—was so mad with fright at the way in which the little fury, though tethered by a handkerchief, dashed about, scratching and tearing at her sides, that she bolted all the way home. And when T—— set the new inmate down on the floor of the sitting-room, where it stood at bay, snarling savagely at us, it seemed about as unpromising a specimen on which to exercise our powers of taming animals as could well be imagined. But, refusing to be daunted, we began by tying our captive to the leg of the table, where he had to accustom himself to seeing us constantly passing and repassing; and though at first he tried to fly at us every time we came near, he soon saw that we had no evil designs against him, and was reassured by our careful avoidance of abrupt movements and sudden noises—most important of all rules to be observed in taming wild creatures. In a few hours he was sufficiently at home to drink milk—though cautiously and watchfully—from a teaspoon held out to him; and in four days he was following us about the house like a little dog.

This meerkat, the largest and handsomest we have ever seen, cannot have been anything less than the chief of his tribe. His powerful, tusk-like teeth, his unusually broad and capacious forehead, his superior intelligence, even for so clever a creature as a meerkat, all proclaimed him born to command. When one day he repaid the care and affection of many weeks by cruelly and ungratefully leaving us, we felt little doubt that, after giving civilization a fair trial, and comparing it with his old life, he had decided in favour of the latter, and started off home. We have often wondered whether he succeeded in finding his way back to his subterranean kingdom. And if so, did he find his subjects still faithful? or was he forgotten, and did another king reign in his stead?

One evening, when the men returned from the camps, one of the ostrich-herds displayed, nestling together in the palm of his hand, two baby meerkats, no larger than good fat mice, which he had caught in the veldt. Rewarding the captor, in the usual Karroo style of barter, with a pound of coffee, we took possession of his prize; and though at first our chance of rearing the tiny animals seemed doubtful, they flourished, grew up into fine specimens of their kind, and were among the most amusing of all our pets. They looked like a perfectly-matched pair of little images with heads moving by clockwork, as they stood, bolt upright, in their favourite places, one against each door-post, and, critically surveying the view with an air of never having seen it before, revelled in the hot sunshine which came pouring in through the open doorway.

Unlike "birds in their little nests," and more after the unamiable fashion of human twins—who generally have to be sent to separate schools—they got on very badly together; and their frequent fights displayed most comically the strong contrast of the two energetic little characters. One of them was selfish and greedy, and, however liberal the supply of food presented—even though it were three times as much as he could possibly eat—always wanted all for himself. Jumping into the middle of the plate, he would stand—a miniature dog in the manger—noisily defending the contents against his gentler brother, whom he would attack and bite savagely if he ventured near. The other was a far nobler and finer character; and, though he too could "bark and bite" on occasion in an equally unbrotherly manner, it was no such base, material cause of jealousy which impelled him to do battle. Our notice and our affection were what he wanted all for himself; and so bitterly did he resent every kind word, every slightest caress bestowed on his companion, that it was the instant signal for war, and, flying at the other, he would attack him as vengefully as he in his turn was attacked at feeding-time.

Both brothers were on terms of insolent and contemptuous familiarity with Toto; on whom they looked as their slave, whom they made the butt for their jokes, and in the soft warmth of whose coat they slept as on the most luxurious of fur rugs. And when he wanted to sleep and they did not, how they relished the fun of keeping him awake against his will! What riotous games they would have, chasing each other backwards and forwards across his recumbent form, pulling his poor tired eyes open with their mischievous black claws, scratching and tickling his nose to make him sneeze, and trying their hardest to burrow into his ear or his mouth. One snap of his powerful jaws, and their frivolous career would promptly have been cut short; but the good old dog—who, in spite of all their teasing, loved the troublesome imps—submitted patiently, though they did make his eyes water.

One day, alas! tired out with play, they were comfortably nestling close up against their big friend's side, and all three were taking their afternoon nap. Perhaps Toto had a disturbing dream, perhaps the flies bothered him and made him restless,—at any rate during his sleep he rolled over on to one of the meerkats—our favourite, of course—and, all unconscious of what he was doing, crushed and suffocated the poor little fellow. Though no one thought of blaming Toto for what was purely accidental, he instantly and completely realized that he had caused the death; and as we stood lamenting over the flattened little body, the poor old dog's distress was most pathetic. He seemed quite overcome with shame; and as he stole from one of us to the other, timidly licking our hands, his expressive face pleaded eloquently for the forgiveness he had no need to ask. With all our efforts to reassure him it was a long time before his sensitive conscience recovered from the shock. The surviving little brother lived to a good old age, came home with us, and succumbed at last to the severities of an English winter.

The variety of character in our numerous meerkats formed quite an amusing study. They differed as much as human beings, and among them all there was but one which was stupid. He, poor fellow, met with injuries in early life at the hands of one of the cruel boys who looked after the little ostriches; who, in a passion with him for getting in the way, picked him up and flung him across the kitchen. He landed in a saucepan, received spinal damage, and grew up stunted in mind and body. And when, one day, he came suddenly to his end by tumbling into that disappointing fountain-basin of which mention has been made, we felt that on the whole it was rather a happy release.

One of our meerkats was the devoted ally of the turkeys, and would go out into the veldt with them every day; accompanying them on all their wanderings, and apparently looking upon himself as their herd. He would come trotting home with them in the evening, full of his own importance, and evidently taking to himself the credit of having brought them all safely back.

Another was fond of rambling off all by himself, sometimes going a very long way from home. On one occasion some friends from a distant farm, driving to call on us, saw near the road what they took for a wild meerkat, and set their collie at it. But animals have a wonderful instinct for detecting the difference between tame and wild creatures; and good Bob, dearly though he loved a scamper after any of the swift-footed denizens of the veldt, saw at once that this was not lawful game. So, instead of the expected chase, there was a friendly and demonstrative greeting between the two animals. The dog stood wagging his tail at the meerkat, the meerkat sat up "quarking" at the dog, and our friends, guessing that the little creature belonged to us, took him up into their Cape cart, and brought him to his home.

Another meerkat, being so incorrigibly savage that handling him was always attended with serious damage to the fingers, had to wear a muzzle, improvised for him by T—— out of one of the little wire baskets made for the spouts of teapots.

Another, though young and tiny, was a born tyrant; displaying the most overbearing and imperious of characters. In company with two full-grown meerkats, we brought him to England; the trio being taken on board the steamer in a large birdcage. There, however, owing to the truculent conduct of "the Mouse," as we called the little one, it was soon found impossible for all three to remain together; and separate quarters had to be provided for the two older animals. For the impudent mite, hardly out of babyhood, domineered over his seniors in most lordly fashion; forbidding them to take their share of the food, and dancing and jumping excitedly in the dish if they ventured to approach it; while they, although they could easily have made short work of the Mouse, calmly submitted; enduring his tyranny with that wonderful patience and forbearance so often shown by animals to one another under provocation which we human beings would bitterly resent. Perhaps they were overawed by the antics of the pugnacious atom, and thought he was not quite canny; or perhaps they looked leniently on his conduct as on that of a spoilt child accustomed to be humoured.

CHAPTER IX.

BOBBY.

Bobby's babyhood — Insatiable appetite — Variety of noises made by Bobby — His tameness — Narrow escape from drowning — A warlike head-gear — Bobby the worse for drink — His love of mischief — He disarms his master — Meerkat persecuted by Bobby — Bobby takes to dishonest ways — He becomes a prisoner — His clever tricks — Death of Bobby.

"Out of question thou wert born in a merry hour."

Bobby was our tame crow. We brought him up from earliest infancy; indeed our acquaintance with him commenced when he was nothing but a speckled, reddish-brown egg, in a nest—or, rather, a flat, untidy bundle of sticks—in one of the few and stunted trees on the Klipplaat road. We were anxious to have one of these crows; knowing what intelligent and amusing birds they are, and having struck up a friendship with one on a neighbouring farm, a comical old one-legged fellow, with an inexhaustible fund of high spirits and solemn impudence, which made him a general favourite.

So we kept an eye on this egg; riding up to the tree occasionally, and watching the progress of the young bird through various stages of ugliness and bareness; until at last we took Bobby home with us, an ungainly, half-fledged creature, very unsteady on his legs and ragged as to his clothing, which latter indeed consisted more of stiff black quills than anything else. His immense bill was perpetually open; displaying the depths of his wide red throat as he shouted defiantly for porridge, of which he never seemed to have enough. He would take it with a loud, greedy noise, swallowing as much of your finger with it as possible, and apparently very much disappointed at having to let the latter go again. He seemed to live in hope that, if he only held on long enough, it would surely come off at last and slip quite down his throat. If we passed anywhere near his basket—even though he had just had an ample feed—he would shoot up, like a black Jack-in-the-box with a large red mouth, demanding more porridge. The vegetarian diet suited him, and he grew into a very large, handsome bird, with the glossiest and softest of blue-black plumage.

He soon refused to stop in his basket; tumbling out head first, and hobbling about the room; then, as his strength increased, he walked and flew about outside the house; always coming at night to sleep on our window. In the morning, as soon as it was light, he would fly in, and wake us up by settling on us and pecking us gently. Then, having given us his morning greeting, he would depart on his rounds outside; and presently we would hear him on the top of the house, or on the wire fence, practising some of his endless variety of noises; imitating the fowls, the donkeys, the dogs, or holding long conversations with himself, the greater part of which sounded like very bad language. One day we heard the cackling of a hen, which had apparently laid an egg on the top of the American windmill; and, on looking up, found that Bobby had selected this airy height as his practising-ground. It was one of his favourite places; and often, when there, he would catch sight of us the moment we came out of the house, and would come flying straight down to us, settling, sometimes quite unexpectedly, on a head or shoulder. He knew his name, and would come to us when we called him; unless indeed we had detected him in some mischief, when he would walk off, and keep carefully out of reach until he thought his offence was forgotten.

He was our constant companion out of doors; and when I went round to the store, gave out the men's rations, fed the ostriches and fowls, or superintended the washing, he was sure to be either following close at my heels like a dog, or perched on my shoulder, whispering confidentially in my ear in a most affectionate manner, while his bright little jewel of an eye watched all I did with great interest. His devotion to his master often led him to fly down the well after him, when work had to be done or superintended there. On one occasion he overshot the mark and got into the water, where he very narrowly escaped being drowned. He was pulled out with some difficulty, very wet and miserable, too frightened to know friends from foes, and biting his rescuer with all his might.

He would accompany us on our walks; and often took long rides with T——, whose white sun-helmet became a most imposing headgear, as Bobby surmounted it, spreading his great black wings; reminding us of the raven-crest of some ancient Scandinavian warrior. Then, while in full gallop, he would dart after one of the great gaudy locusts—four inches long, and looking like painted toys daubed with red, yellow, and green—and, catching it on the wing with unerring aim, would fly back with it to his place on the sun-helmet, where he would regale with many noises expressive of satisfaction.

Bobby was not a "temperance" bird; indeed, his tastes lay in quite an opposite direction. We first discovered his propensity by accident, and in this manner. One day, when doctoring a sick fowl, which needed "picking up," I had mixed some porridge with wine, making it very strong. Just as I was about to administer it, Bobby came hurrying up, with his inquiring mind, as usual, all on the qui vive to see what was going on. He plunged his bill into the porridge, and helped himself to a large mouthful; then, finding it to his taste, he went on eating noisily and greedily, till he had "taken on board" a considerable amount, and walked off satisfied. Then, having attended to my patient, I went indoors, thinking no more of Bobby till, some time after, Nancy, our Hottentot "help," came running to us, calling out, "Missis! Missis! Bobby drunk!" We went outside; and there, sure enough, was Bobby, on his back, his little black feet helplessly kicking the air, his bill wide open, and a variety of the most astonishing sounds proceeding therefrom, compared with which his usual, every-day profanity was mild.

He soon recovered, and was on his legs again, none the worse for the adventure; but it left him with a decided taste for stimulants, which he strove to indulge on all possible occasions. From that day he followed me to the store more pertinaciously than ever; sitting on the tap of the cask while I drew the wine for meals, bending down and twisting his neck to reach the stream as it flowed into the jug. He gradually learned to turn the tap himself, and was delighted if he could catch a few drops. At last he became clever enough to set the wine running altogether; and, as he never learned to turn the tap back again, great caution was necessary to see that he did not remain behind in the store, which he was always trying to do. He would often give a good deal of trouble by flying to the very topmost shelf, from whence it was difficult to dislodge him; and where a chase after him involved climbing over numerous sacks on my part, and much knocking over of bottles and tins on that of Bobby.

Bobby loved mischief; he revelled in it, not for the sake of any good which it brought him, but simply out of what the Americans call "cussedness." He was never so happy as when busily engaged in some work of destruction. When discovered, he would retreat to a safe distance, and, if pursued, would always manage to keep just out of reach; though not too far for you to see the twinkle of enjoyment in his wicked old eye, and hear his defiant croak; and as he strutted before you, looking back triumphantly over his shoulder, you felt that he was laughing at you.

The garden was his favourite field of operations; and, considering the time and trouble spent in producing that little oasis, and in persuading plants to grow in it, it was no small trial to be disappointed of one crop of vegetables after another, simply owing to his careful destruction of the young plants almost as soon as they showed their heads above ground. It was provoking, on going down to the garden, to find that the few rows of peas or French beans, which we had so carefully sown and watered, and which only the day before were coming up so promisingly, had been butchered to make Bobby's holiday, and were now all rooted up, dried and shrivelled in the hot sun, and lying, neatly arranged in order, each one in the place where it had grown. The culprit himself would probably be out of sight, for his gardening operations were usually carried on in the early morning, thus securing a quiet uninterrupted time among the plants before we were about; but once we caught him. We were out earlier than usual, and found Bobby so deeply engrossed in putting the finishing touches to a row of beans which he had pulled up and laid in their places with even more than his usual neatness, that he only looked up in time to see his offended master a few yards off, and just preparing to throw a good-sized stone. In an instant Bobby's mind was made up. Instead of attempting flight, and getting hit by the stone, he impulsively threw himself on T——'s generosity, and flew straight to his hand; looking up confidingly in his face, and at once winning the pardon he sought. His loving ways made us forgive many of his iniquities.

He liked to be "around" during meals; experimenting on the different articles of food, and occasionally dipping his bill into a cup of tea, or what pleased him still more, a glass of wine. But, unfortunately, he did not confine his attentions to the provisions, and was constantly attempting to carry off the spoons and forks: we narrowly escaped losing several of them, and he succeeded in getting away with one knife, which we never saw again. He also flew off with one of T——'s razors, and, when just above the middle of the dam, dropped it into the water.

At last his thieving propensities obliged us to forbid him the house, and Toto learned to chase him out the instant he appeared inside the door; the noisy hunt often ending in Bobby's being caught, and gently but firmly held down under the paws of Toto, who would lie wagging his tail contentedly, while Bobby, hurt nowhere but in his pride, vented his rage in discordant croaks. He became very jealous of Toto and the other pets which, less mischievous than himself, were allowed indoors; and he delighted especially in teasing the little meerkat, no less constant an attendant than himself among the small train of animal friends which followed us outside. Bobby would come up noiselessly behind, and, catching the tip of the meerkat's tail in his bill, would lift the little fellow off his legs, take him up a few feet into the air, and drop him suddenly. Then, after waiting a few moments till his victim had recovered his composure, and was off his guard, he would repeat the performance. The meerkat, a plucky, independent little character, resented the insult, and scolded and chattered vehemently, showing all his small teeth as he hung helplessly by the tail: but he was powerless against Bobby, and had to submit to being whisked up unexpectedly as often as his tormentor, by right of superior strength, chose to indulge his practical joke.

As Bobby grew older he lost his simple vegetarian tastes, despised porridge, and began to pick up a dishonest living about the fowl-house. He would fly to meet us in the morning, and perch on our shoulders with an impudent assumption of innocence; quite unconscious that the yellow stickiness of his bill told us he had just been breakfasting off several eggs. Then he took to eating the little chickens; and here his talent for mimicking the fowls stood him in good stead, and no doubt gained him many a dinner; his exact imitation of the hen's call to her young ones attracting victims within his reach. Many battles were fought by the maternal hens in defence of their progeny; in which Bobby always got the best of it, going off triumphantly with his prize, to regale in safety on the roof, or at the top of the windmill. Our poor little broods of chickens, which had enemies enough before in the shape of hawks, wild cats, snakes, etc., diminished rapidly with this traitor in the camp, whose capacious appetite was equal to consuming as many as four a day, with eggs ad libitum.

For this, and for his offences in the garden, Bobby was at last sentenced to be tied up: a little bangle of twisted wire was fastened round one leg, and attached to a long piece of stout wire outside our window; and there, so long as there were little chickens about the house, or tender young vegetables in the garden, he had to remain. We felt much compunction at treating our old friend thus, and feared that with his keen appreciation of freedom, and love of independence, he would pine in captivity; but Bobby did nothing of the kind. He was a far greater philosopher than we thought, and resigned himself at once to circumstances; making the best of things in a manner which some of the human race might well imitate. He harboured no resentment against us for depriving him of freedom; but, with his sweet temper quite unimpaired by his reverse of fortune, would give us just as warm and joyful a welcome, and caress us as lovingly, as in brighter days. He did not sit idle on the perch to which we had condemned him; but, his love of mischief breaking out in quite a new direction, he immediately consoled himself by commencing destructive operations on the window in which he sat, and on as much of the outside of the house as came within reach of his tether. He broke away the plaster from the wall, knocked out the mortar from between the bricks, and carefully picked all the putty out of the window, the panes of which he loosened so that they were always threatening to fall out; and in a very short time our room, which was in reality the newest part of the house, looked like an old ruin, with crumbling wall and dilapidated window.

He had a variety of resources at his command; and when not engaged in the destruction of the house, he would often be found busy on another work he had in hand, that of trying to free himself from his bonds. No human prisoner, filing through the iron bars of his dungeon, ever worked more perseveringly for his freedom than did Bobby,—biting through strand after strand of his cord of steel wires, or slowly, but surely, unfastening the twisted bangle on his leg; until at last some day he would be missing from his place—devastation in the garden, empty eggshells in the hens' nests, and sad gaps among the rising generation of fowls showing the good use he had made of his opportunities. No small amount of stratagem was required to recapture him when loose; and much time and trouble had to be expended, and tempting dainties displayed, to entice him within reach—a fat mouse, if there happened to be one in the trap, being the most effective bait.

Bobby would have been invaluable to an exhibitor of performing animals; his intelligence in learning the few tricks we had the leisure to teach him showed that he would have been capable of distinguishing himself if he had been educated as a member of a "happy family." We often brought him in to show his tricks before visitors; and his solemn way of performing them added much to the amusement he caused. He was a true humourist, and knew that his joke was more telling when made with serious face and grave deportment.

He would lie "dead," flat on his back, with his blue eyelids drawn up over his eyes; remaining motionless for any length of time we chose, and waiting for the word of command, when he would scramble to his feet in a great hurry, with a self-satisfied croak at his own cleverness. He would hang by his bill from one of our fingers, which he had swallowed to its point of junction with the hand; and, with his wings drooping, and his legs hanging straight down in a limp and helpless manner, looking altogether a most strange and grotesque object, would allow us to carry him about wherever we liked. A little string of dark red beads, brought from Jerusalem, would always throw him into a perfect frenzy of real or pretended fright—probably the latter; and if they were put anywhere near him, or, worse still, flung across his back, he at once commenced a series of startling antics, jumping and hopping about as if possessed, and uttering very uncanny sounds.

As the time for our return to England drew near, we made up our minds that we could not leave Bobby behind—he must be one of the little party of friendly animals which were to accompany us home; and we were already discussing in what kind of cage or box he should travel, wondering how he would like being enclosed in so small a space, and how he would behave at sea: friends in England had promised him a welcome, and were looking forward to seeing him—when, after all, we had to part with him. Just three weeks before we sailed poor old Bobby was suddenly paralyzed, and died in a few hours. We never knew what caused his death: whether his unconquerable curiosity had led him to eat something poisonous; whether the enforced sedentary life he had led for so many weeks together had undermined his constitution; or whether occasional dead snakes, and the contents of the mouse-traps, which during his detention were always contributed in hope of partially satisfying his large appetite, were perhaps unwholesome diet, and shortened his days, we cannot tell. But Bobby was sadly missed; and we still regret that brightest and most comical of all our pets.

Some will perhaps say, "What foolish people these must have been, to tolerate a black imp of mischief who destroyed their vegetables, ate their eggs, killed their chickens, did his best to pull down their house, and whose neck ought to have been wrung!" But, just as among the human race those characters we love best are not always the most faultless, so poor Bobby, full of imperfections as he was—far from honest, not always sober, and with that terrible bent for mischief making him so often a nuisance—yet possessed so many lovable qualities that his failings were redeemed; and he lives in our recollection as one of the kindest and most faithful of all our South African friends. We could have better spared a better bird.

CHAPTER X.

OUR SERVANTS.

A retrospective vision — Phillis in her domain — Her destructiveness — Her ideas on personal adornment — The woes of a mistress — Eye-service — Abrupt departure of Phillis — Left in the lurch — Nancy and her successors — Cure of sham sickness — The thief's dose — Our ostrich-herd — A bride purchased with cows — English and natives at the Cape — Character of Zulus and Kaffirs.