He was a villainous-looking fellow, with one eye, and nothing on but a ragged pair of trousers fastened round the middle with a greasy leather strap.
In his wool, however, were stuck several small distended bladders such as are generally worn by medicine-men and witch-doctors.

With his left hand he held a long stick, cleft at one end, and in the cleft was a letter.
"Come here, Stomp," said Bessie, and as she spoke a wild hope shot across her heart like a meteor across the night: perhaps the letter was from John.
The dog obeyed her unwillingly enough, for evidently he did not like that Kafir; and when he saw that Stomp was well out of the way the Kafir himself followed.

He was an insolent fellow, and took no notice of Bessie before squatting himself down upon the drive in front of her.
"What is it ?" said Bessie in Dutch, her lips trembling as she spoke.
"A letter," answered the man.
"Give it to me." "No, missie, not till I have looked at you to see if it is right.

Light yellow hair that curls--_one_," checking it on his fingers, "yes, that is right; large blue eyes--_two_, that is right; big and tall, and fair as a star--yes, the letter is for you, take it," and he poked the long stick almost into her face.
"Where is it from ?" asked Bessie, with sudden suspicion and recoiling a step.
"Wakkerstroom last." "Who is it from ?" "Read it, and you will see." Bessie took the letter, which was wrapped in a piece of old newspaper, from the cleft of the stick and turned it over and over doubtfully.

Most of us have a mistrust of strange-looking letters, and this letter was unusually strange.