The instincts of his wild race were busy within him.

To them a flight of locusts is not an object of dread, but a source of rejoicing--their coming as welcome as a _take_ of shrimps to a Leigh fisherman, or harvest to the husbandman.
The dogs, too, barked and howled with joy, and frisked about as if they were going out upon a hunt.

On perceiving the cloud, their instinct enabled them easily to recognise the locusts.

They regarded them with feelings similar to those that stirred Swartboy--for both dogs and Bushmen eat the insects with avidity! At the announcement that it was only locusts, all at once recovered from their alarm.

Little Truey and Jan laughed, clapped their hands, and waited with curiosity until they should come nearer.