I passed the fork of the rubbly roads where I had parted from Hilda.

At last, I reached the long, rolling ridge which looks down upon Klaas's, and could see in the slant sunlight the mud farmhouse and the corrugated iron roof where the oxen were stabled.
The place looked more deserted, more dead-alive than ever.

Not a black boy moved in it.

Even the cattle and Kaffir sheep were nowhere to be seen....

But then it was always quiet; and perhaps I noticed the obtrusive air of solitude and sleepiness even more than usual, because I had just returned from Salisbury.