"Of course not. Hurry up; you'll just have time."

John dashed off with a feeling of unutterable relief. He pitched his tie and collar into a corner, crushed his suit into a drawer, regardless of creases, and in ten minutes reappeared in flannel shirt and clean white drill, feeling at ease.

In less than half-an-hour the party arrived, six in all, Mr. Gillespie having accompanied them. Their safari was still some miles in the rear.

"How d'you do, John?" said the elder lady, as he helped her to dismount.

"I am Mrs. Burtenshaw--still!"

John felt himself blushing.

"I know you as Cousin Sylvia, ma'am," he said.

"We'll be great friends, I'm sure. You know Joe and Poll; this is Helen. Hilda, come and be introduced to my long-lost nephew. Regard me as your favourite aunt, my dear boy. Tell me," she whispered, "is that fat smiling gentleman in white your failed B.A.?"

"That's he: cook, khansaman, and major-domo. Said Mohammed, escort the ladies to their rooms."

The Bengali approached, bowing to each in turn.

"Esteemed madam and misses," he said, "deign to direct your footsteps to humble abode, or, as William Cowper beautifully says, your lodge in vast wilderness, with boundless contiguity of shade."

The ladies preserved an admirable composure, and retired to the huts a.s.signed to them.

"Now, John," said Mrs. Burtenshaw, when they reappeared, "you must show us round this wonderful farm of yours. It looks very tidy, I must say.

But where are your sheep? I thought you had hundreds, and there aren't fifty in that pen."

"They're out at gra.s.s, cousin; you'll see them come in by and by. There really isn't much to see, you know. Cabbages and artichokes--'m; _topinambours_ is the name for ladies, says my cook--they're just the same, here and at home. If you'd come a few months later, now, I might have shown you some zebras. I'm going to try and tame some."

"Ah yes! I remember you threatened to meet your father on a striped charger, to match his striped trousers.... Who's that funny-looking little object?"

"That's Bill, scout and huntsman, and a millionaire, as things are reckoned here. Come and see his ivory."

"You're a very rash and headstrong boy. The idea of going miles and miles after a set of thieves! I wonder you're alive. A pretty settler, indeed!"

"Well, cousin, I dare say I shall settle down now, with father to keep me in order. You see, we couldn't have felt secure if----"

"Don't tell me! You're just a madcap; if you were my son I should be in constant terror lest you were brought home one day a mangled corpse."

"Look, mother," said Helen, "isn't it a pretty sight?"

The lambs were coming home, a great flock, covering the hollow between two gentle slopes. Their bleatings, heard faintly at first, became a deafening noise as they neared the farm. The observers noticed how they quickened their pace as they approached. Within the pen the ewes moved restlessly about, bleating calls to their young. When the lambs entered through the gate, they leapt forward frisking with delight, darted into the open pen, and sprang this way and that, each seeking its own dam.

"Charming!" said Mrs. Burtenshaw. "What a pity sheep are so silly! Now take us to your dairy."

Said Mohammed's cookery won general applause.

"I envy you, Halliday," said Mr. Gillespie. "He's worth his fifty rupees a month, isn't he?"

"You don't have a dinner like this every day, I'm sure, John--French menu and all," said Mrs. Burtenshaw. "I should like the recipe for that _consomme a la Wanderobbo_."

"What is _a la Wanderobbo_?" asked Helen.

"I don't know," replied John. "That little old man you saw just now is one of the Wanderobbo tribe."

"Good gracious! I hope he had nothing to do with the soup. He looked--well, not scrupulously clean."

"No, no," said John, laughing. "He had no more to do with the soup than Lulu had with the cauliflowers--unless she cut them. Talking of Bill, Mr. Gillespie, what are we to do about his ivory? It has been his dream for years to recover it, but when we got back he made me a present of it."

"Just like a man," said Mrs. Burtenshaw. "You'll struggle all your life and wear yourselves out for some ridiculous thing, and when you get it don't know what to do with it."

"It's what you do that counts, not what you get," remarked Mr. Halliday: "or as our failed B.A. said when we met him first, it is work that enn.o.bles. But about the ivory?"

"Well," said Mr. Gillespie judicially, "I'm not sure but it belongs to the Government."

"I don't see that," said Joe Browne. "The Government did nothing for it. Didn't do anything for you, either. I'd stick to it if I were you, John. What will it fetch?"

"Five or six hundred pounds, I should think," said Mr. Gillespie.

"I wish it were mine," said Oliver. "Mother keeps me plaguey short."

"I'd thought of a scheme that would be pretty fair all round," said John. "Bill was the owner, and he gave it to me. He wants to stay on the farm. Well, I propose to build him a new hut and set him up with new weapons: that will make him comfortable for life. Then old Sobersides has been very decent. His men behaved like bricks, and we certainly couldn't have got it without their help. We might give them some bushels of beads and loads of wire and blankets and other things they value. They may seem trumpery to us, but they're untold wealth to the natives."

"And then?" said Mrs. Burtenshaw.

"Well, perhaps Charley and I might share the rest."

"Nonsense!" said Ferrier. "It's yours."

"And we'll share it. We shared everything else. Don't be selfish, Charley."

Everybody laughed, and it was ultimately settled that the ivory should be sent to Nairobi, where Mr. Gillespie promised to get the best possible price for it.

Here Said Mohammed came in with coffee. When he had handed round the cups he lingered.

"Don't wait, khansaman," said John. "We'll manage now. Every one was delighted with your dinner."

"I am repaid a thousandfold, sir. Not to intrude, sir, I have trifling communication to make."

"What is it?"

"Native chief, sir, did me honour to request I would convey thanks of self and co. for immense and colossal benefits conferred."

"Oh, that's all right. He thanked me himself, long ago."

"_Festina lente_, sir. Reflecting on said pet.i.tion, I deemed the circs.

worthy of more formal commemoration than perfunctory acknowledgement.

Wherefore and accordingly I scorn delights and live laborious days in inditing few lines pat to the occasion, which with august permission I will now proceed to chuck off chest."