He was a curious, wizened-up little fellow, dressed in rags, and with hair like the worn tags of a black woollen carpet.
His age might have been anything between twenty-five and sixty; it was impossible to form any opinion on the point.

Just now, however, his yellow monkey face was convulsed with an expression of intense malignity, and he was standing there in the sunshine cursing rapidly beneath his breath in Dutch, and shaking his fist after the form of the retreating Boer--a very epitome of impotent but overmastering passion.
"What is he doing ?" asked John.
Jess laughed, and answered, "Jantje does not like Frank Muller any more than I do, but I don't know why.

He will never tell me.".