It was a curious small figure.

His flock gave him little trouble.

It was too hot for them to move far; they gathered round every little milk-bush, as though they hoped to find shade, and stood there motionless in clumps.

He himself crept under a shelving rock that lay at the foot of the kopje, stretched himself on his stomach, and waved his dilapidated little shoes in the air.
Soon, from the blue bag where he kept his dinner, he produced a fragment of slate, an arithmetic, and a pencil.

Proceeding to put down a sum with solemn and earnest demeanour, he began to add it up aloud: "Six and two is eight--and four is twelve--and two is fourteen--and four is eighteen." Here he paused.