He was a large and exceedingly handsome man, apparently about forty years old, with clear-cut features, cold, light-blue eyes, and a remarkable golden beard that hung down over his chest.

For a Boer he was rather smartly dressed in English-made tweed clothes, and tall riding-boots.
"Ah, Miss Bessie," he called out in English, "there you are, with your pretty arms all bare.

I'm in luck to be just in time to see them.

Shall I come and help you to wash the feathers?
Only say the word, now----" Just then he caught sight of John Niel, checked himself, and added: "I have come to look for a black ox, branded with a heart and a 'W' inside of the heart.

Do you know if your uncle has seen it on the place anywhere ?" "No, _Meinheer_ Muller," replied Bessie, coldly, "but he is down there," pointing at a kraal on the plain some half-mile away, "if you want to go and ask about it." "_Mr._ Muller," said he, by way of correction, and with a curious contraction of the brow.