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Updated: May 19, 2025
Dirk, the Hottentot, had brought his flock home already, and stood at the kraal door with his ragged yellow trousers. The fat old Boer put his stick across the door, and let Jannita's goats jump over, one by one. He counted them. When the last jumped over: "Have you been to sleep today?" he said; "there is one missing." Then little Jannita knew what was coming, and she said, in a low voice, "No."
Little Jannita sat alone beside a milk-bush. Before her and behind her stretched the plain, covered with red sand and thorny karoo bushes; and here and there a milk-bush, looking like a bundle of pale green rods tied together. Not a tree was to be seen anywhere, except on the banks of the river, and that was far away, and the sun beat on her head.
Then they talked, and quarrelled a little; and then they talked quietly again. The Hottentot man put a leg of the kid under his coat and left the rest of the meat for the two in the sluit, and walked away. When little Jannita awoke it was almost sunset. She sat up very frightened, but her goats were all about her. She began to drive them home. "I do not think there are any lost," she said.
And then she felt in her heart that deadly sickness that you feel when you tell a lie; and again she said, "Yes." "Do you think you will have any supper this evening?" said the Boer. "No," said Jannita. "What do you think you will have?" "I don't know," said Jannita. "Give me your whip," said the Boer to Dirk, the Hottentot. The moon was all but full that night. Oh, but its light was beautiful!
Round her fed the Angora goats she was herding; pretty things, especially the little ones, with white silky curls that touched the ground. But Jannita sat crying. If an angel should gather up in his cup all the tears that have been shed, I think the bitterest would be those of children.
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