To us they are only strange things, that make us laugh; but to him they were very beautiful." The children had turned round and looked at the pictures.
"He used to kneel here naked, painting, painting, painting; and he wondered at the things he made himself," said the boy, rising and moving his hand in deep excitement.

"Now the Boers have shot them all, so that we never see a little yellow face peeping out among the stones." He paused, a dreamy look coming over his face.

"And the wild bucks have gone, and those days, and we are here.

But we will be gone soon, and only the stones will lie on here, looking at everything like they look now.

I know that it is I who am thinking," the fellow added slowly, "but it seems as though it were they who are talking.