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But you may judge for yourself, boy reader, after you have heard the "history and adventures" of the "trek-boor" and his family. The ex-field-cornet was seated in front of his kraal for such is the name of a South African homestead. From his lips protruded a large pipe, with its huge bowl of meerschaum. Every boor is a smoker.
Von Bloom escaped by flight; but his fine property in the Graaf Reinet was confiscated and given to another. Many years after we find him living in a remote district beyond the great Orange River, leading the life of a "trek-boor," that is, a nomade farmer, who has no fixed or permanent abode, but moves with his flocks from place to place, wherever good pastures and water may tempt him.
The region around, for hundreds of miles, was uninhabited, for the thinly-scattered, half-human Bushmen who dwelt within its limits, hardly deserved the name of inhabitants any more than the wild beasts that howled around them. I have said that Von Bloom now followed the occupation of a "trek-boor."
A leopard-skin pouch hanging under his right arm, a hunting-knife stuck in his waist-belt, and a large meerschaum pipe through the band of his hat, completed the equipments of the trek-boor, Von Bloom. Hans and Hendrik were very similarly attired, armed, and equipped.
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