It would not be the thing for me to go alone--me, who am only thirty-three, and he an unmarried man now," said Tant Sannie, blushing and smoothing out her apron.
Upon this they all trudged round the house in company--the Hottentot maid carrying the light, Tant Sannie and the German following, and the Kaffer girl bringing up the rear.
"Oh," said Tant Sannie, "I see now it wasn't wickedness made him do without his wife so long--only necessity." At the door she motioned to the German to enter, and followed him closely.

On the stretcher behind the sacks Bonaparte lay on his face, his head pressed into a pillow, his legs kicking gently.

The Boer-woman sat down on a box at the foot of the bed.

The German stood with folded hands looking on.
"We must all die," said Tant Sannie at last; "it is the dear Lord's will." Hearing her voice, Bonaparte turned himself on to his back.
"It's very hard," said Tant Sannie, "I know, for I've lost two husbands." Bonaparte looked up into the German's face.
"Oh, what does she say?
Speak to me words of comfort!" The German repeated Tant Sannie's remark.
"Ah, I--I also! Two dear, dear wives, whom I shall never see any more!" cried Bonaparte, flinging himself back upon the bed.
He howled, till the tarantulas, who lived between the rafters and the zinc roof, felt the unusual vibration, and looked out with their wicked bright eyes, to see what was going on.
Tant Sannie sighed, the Hottentot maid sighed, the Kaffer girl who looked in at the door put her hand over her mouth and said "Mow-wah!" "You must trust in the Lord," said Tant Sannie.

"He can give you more than you have lost." "I do, I do!" he cried; "but oh, I have no wife! I have no wife!" Tant Sannie was much affected, and came and stood near the bed.
"Ask him if he won't have a little pap--nice, fine, flour pap.