Oh, you laugh at the poor Totty; but I had it from my father, and he from his father from generation to generation, amen, and you will see.

You will see, as I have seen before now, and as the Heer Marais will see, who, if the great God had not made him mad--for mad he is, baas, as we know, if you Whites don't--might have lived in his home till he was old, and have had a good son-in-law to bury him in his blanket." Now I seemed to have had enough of this eerie conversation.

Of course it is easy to laugh at natives and their superstitions, but, after a long life of experience, I am bound to admit that they are not always devoid of truth.

The native has some kind of sixth sense which the civilised man has lost, or so it seems to me.
"Talking of blankets," I said in order to change the subject, "from whom did you get these karosses ?" "From whom?
Why, from the Missie, of course, baas.

When I heard that you were to sleep in the cart I went to her and borrowed them to cover you.