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The Maori comes to my aid and gets a hold, and together we are rolled over on the ground. Alas! we have not between us Old Colonial's knack and activity, nor are we endowed with muscles of such steely fibre. We keep our clutch determinedly, desperately, and we are flung and bumped among the tree-roots and brushwood.
Harry, distrusts her judgment for a Colonial's; but I vow she is the soundest of women. . . . In short, dear Ruth, we have only to regularise things and we are forgiven. The good soul dotes on me, and imagines she has but a few years left to live. This softens her. . . . "There is a rumour credit it, if you can! that my Aunt Caroline intends to espouse a Mr.
True enough, he had no skill in the various accomplishments that Mr. Denman seemed to consider essential; he had no experience in business, he was not fit for office work office work he loathed; but surely there was some position where his talents would bring him recognition and fortune at last. After all, Mr. Denman was only a Colonial, and with a Colonial's somewhat narrow view of life.
In spite of the peculiarities of our table-service, we fare sumptuously often enough, much more so than many people who would disdain to feed without linen and dishes and plates, forks, spoons, and other things that we hold in slight regard. Old Colonial's name has gone abroad through the country.
Thus, when the English, Dutch, and French buccaneers took to harassing the South American coast in earnest, there were periods when the galleons of the Indies were kept within their harbour for a year and more. Then the Spaniards went perforce without the South American gold, and the colonial's life was shorn of the few comforts which the wildly expensive imported articles had been wont to bring.
He went away apparently satisfied, and much lightened in his mind; but we began to have a fear that the watch would prove an injudicious present. The next morning Tama appeared again, with the same sad and serious aspect, this time complicated with a look of intense puzzlement. He contemplated Old Colonial's hands as he wound up the watch again and set it going.
One of them, who is sitting on Old Colonial's knee, suddenly becomes aware of the state of his poll, and, pulling his beard to attract attention, asks "What made you cut your hair off?" Old Colonial looks across at the Saint; and then, catching Mrs. Member's eye, he and she and all of us go off into peals and roars of laughter.
This was partly due, I think, to the absence of drink. The Colonial's idea of gratitude and good-fellowship is always expressed in drink, and cannot be separated from it, or even exist without it. Many felt this. Several said to me, "We are awfully glad to see you, old chap, but the fact is there's no whisky."
As I know that Old Colonial's hands are more accustomed to the axe than to the pen, and that he will never take the trouble to give his wonderful collection of anecdotes to a larger audience than his voice can reach, I have made notes of his narratives, and some day, perhaps, shall put them in print.
He had been too ambitious, too scornful of delay. Forewarned by Africans, he had pressed to a midsummer disaster. Now he had left Africans in charge. He had trusted them to go on. One Christian, in particular, he had trusted his fellow and his master in building. The boy had built at a colonial's cattle-kraal once.
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