It is a very trying ceremony till one gets used to it, and John pulled up panting, to be presented with a cup of hot coffee that he did not want, but which it would be rude not to drink.
"The Captain is the _rooibaatje ?_" said the old lady "Aunt" Coetzee interrogatively, and yet with the certainty of one who states a fact.
John signified that he was.
"What does the Captain come to the 'land' for?
Is it to spy ?" The whole audience listened attentively to their hostess's question, then turned their heads to listen for the answer.
"No.

I have come to farm with Silas Croft." There was a general smile of incredulity.

Could a _rooibaatje_ farm?
Certainly not.
"There are three thousand men in the British army," announced the old _vrouw_ oracularly, and casting a severe glance at the wolf in sheep's clothing, the man of blood who pretended to farm.
Everybody looked at John again, and awaited his answer in dead silence.
"There are more than a hundred thousand men in the regular British army, and as many more in the Indian army, and twice as many more volunteers," he said, in a rather irritated voice.
This statement also was received with the most discouraging incredulity.
"There are three thousand men in the British army," repeated the old lady, in a tone of certainty that was positively crushing.
"Yah, yah!" chimed in some of the younger men in chorus.
"There are three thousand men in the British army," she repeated for the third time in triumph.

"If the Captain says that there are more he lies.
It is natural that he should lie about his own army.

My grandfather's brother was at Cape Town in the time of Governor Smith, and he saw the whole British army.