lost to us. Half an hour and whirl of tossing horns later the patriarch returns and stamping hoofs, it was with conquering air, and it is difficult to refrain from greeting him with a cheer. The cows do not display any particular feeling one way or another at the change of escort, and continue on their way as if nothing had happened. Alas, that success should be SO short-lived! Within a week the old fellow is seen once more under his accustomed tree as dismal and lonely-looking as ever. It was not far from here, too, that we once witnessed the unavailing endeavours of an unfortunate half - grown wildebeeste, by some mischance out of touch with his own herd, to attach himself to a body of strangers. Tentatively, and with every possible demonstration of friendliness, he slowly approached. Arrived within fifty yards, a couple of bulls walked out to take his measure. There was a short but apparently fairly close inspection, and then both proceeded to assault him violently. Away fled the unhappy intruder, nor rested until he had put several hundred yards betwixt himself and his assailants. Thereafter, having apparently plucked up courage, and doubtless hoping for better luck next time, he proceeded once more to put fortune to the test. On this occasion every animal in the herd seemed emulous to do him injury; and when he at length emerged from out of the midst of that cloud of dust at his best pace and evidently with but one idea that of getting as far away as possible. By the time we have got back to Malahana's the leopard has been skinned: the pelt has been pegged out to dry, and most of the meat is already simmering in the cooking-pots. Everyone is in a cheerful frame of mind. Mfundisi, indeed, has been so excited in anticipation of the splendid feast that he has quite forgotten to boil the water for tea; in fact, on inquiry, it leaks out that it has not yet been fetched from the stream. The temper is apt to be short in Africa; and on the present occasion, in addition, we are tired and hungry, and so it is to be feared that the language used partakes rather of the forcible than of the polite, so that the pectant grin quite vanishes from the youth's ebon countenance as he sets about making up for lost time. ex 'Mid a babel of bird voices, melodious and harsh, noisy and gentle, intoning successively and in united chorus every note of the gamut, the sun at length sinks blood-red over the western ridges; and then to the sound of many tongues succeeds that strange hush which follows sunset, and forms, as it were, neutral ground betwixt the voices of the day and those others peculiar to the hours of darkness. the heat, the insects, the thirst, fast to the sides, until just as the thousand and one petty it seems that he must be discomforts, all forgotten? Far dashed to pieces the wings from it. On the contrary, to are extended, and he lights recall them from a present easily upon his feet, to rise haven of ease is to invest immediately again and react such episodes with a halo the scene. of attraction and of distinction, and to cause one to look forward with eager anticipation to further experiences of the same kind on the morrow. And so we recline and smoke, while the sun sinks low to the horizon, and, their roostingtime at hand, the ring-doves come speeding overhead on the way to their evening drink. Down by the spruit the francolins are busy calling to one another, and beyond it the bush knorhaans are practising those aërial gymnastics so familiar to the sportsman who has visited their haunts. Straight up from out of the sea of bush into the quiet evening air rises the cock bird, to pause at a sufficient altitude with flapping wings, and then to fall headlong, the pinions held It becomes chilly, and the brilliant stars foreshadow a touch of frost. The pony has been rugged up and fed, and nothing now remains but to discuss the fare provided by the penitent Mfundisi, and then to seek the welcome blankets. J. STEVENSON-HAMILTON. A MAN'S MAN. BY IAN HAY, AUTHOR OF 'THE RIGHT STUFF.' CHAPTER FOUR,-AN UNDERSTUDY. "The indulgence of the audience is asked on behalf of Miss Joan Gaymer, who, owing to the sudden indisposition of Miss Mildred Freshwater, has taken up that lady's part at very short notice." ... A COUPLE of hours later Hughie, roaring very gently for so great a lion, was engaged in paddling a Canadian canoe down to Ditton Corner. The canoe contained one passenger, who, with feminine indifference to the inflexible laws of science, was endeavouring to assist its progress by paddling in the wrong direction. Her small person, propped by convenient cushions, was wedged into the bow of the vessel, and her white frock and attenuated black legs were protected from the results of her own efforts at navigation by a spare blazer of Hughie's. Her hat lay on the floor of the canoe, half-full of cherries, and her long hair rippled and glimmered in the afternoon sun. Miss Joan Gaymer would be a beauty some day, but for the present all knowledge of that fact was being tactfully withheld from her. To do her justice, the prospect would have interested her but little. Like most small girls of eleven, she desired nothing so much at present as to resemble a small boy as closely as possible. She would rather have captured one bird's-nest than twenty hearts, and appearances she counted as dross provided she could hold her own in a catherinewheel competition. They were rather a silent couple. Joan was filled with that contentment which is beyond words. She was wearing a new frock; she had escaped under an escort almost exclusively male-if we except the benevolent despotism of Mrs Ames-from home, nurse, and governess, to attend a series of purely grown-up functions; and to crown all she was alone in the canoe, a light-blue blazer spread over her knees, with one who represented to her small experience the head and summit of all that a man should-nay, could-be. "I expect," she remarked, in a sudden burst of exultation, as the canoe slid past two gorgeously arrayed young persons who were seated by the water's edge, "that those two are pretty sorry they're not in this canoe with us." The ladies referred to arose and walked inland with some deliberation. Hughie did not answer. His brow was knitted and his manner somewhat absent. "Hughie," announced Miss Gaymer reproachfully, “you are me." (She had a curiously gruff and hoarse little voice, and suffered in addition from in ability to pronounce those elusive consonants r and 1. So she did not say very cross," but "ve'y c'oss" in a deep bass. Hughie roused himself. "Sorry, Joey," he said, "I was thinking." "Sec'ets?" inquired Miss Gaymer, all agog with femininity at once. "No." "Oh"-rather disappointedly. "About your old boat, then?" "Well, do it just when you pass us, will you?" "I'll try," said Hughie, beginning to brighten up. "But it may take longer than that. About the Railway Bridge, I should think." "And after the race will you take me home again?" inquired the lady anxiously. "Can't be done, I'm afraid. The race finishes miles from Ditton, where you will be; and I shouldn't be able to get back in time. You had better drive home with the others.' "When shall I see you again, then?" demanded Miss Gaymer, who was not of an age to be reticent about the trend of her virgin affections. "About seven. You are all coming to dine in my rooms. "Ooh!" exclaimed his companion in a flutter of excitement. "How long can I sit up?" "Ask Mrs Ames," replied the diplomatic Hughie. "Till ten? hazarded Joey, with the air of one initiating a Dutch auction. "Don't ask me, old lady." "Supposing," suggested Miss Gaymer craftily, "that you was to say you wanted me to sit up and keep you company?" Hughie laughed. "Afraid that wouldn't work. I have to go out about nine to a Bump Supper." "What's that?" "A College supper, in honour of the men who have been rowing." "I like suppers," said Miss Gaymer tentatively. Hughie smiled. "I don't think you'd like this one, Joey," he said. Why? Don't they have any sixpences or thimbles in the t'ifle?" said Miss Gaymer, in whose infant mind the word supper merely conjured up a vision of sticky children, wearing paper caps out of crackers, distending themselves under adult supervision. "I don't think they have any trifle." "Perfectly p'eposterous!" commented Miss Gaymer with heat. (I think it has already been mentioned that she spent a good deal of her time in the company of Jimmy Marrable.) "Ices?" "Let me see. Yes- -sometimes." "Ah!" crooned Joey, with a happy little sigh. "Can't I come?" "Afraid not, madam. Bump Suppers are for gentlemen only." "I should like that," said madam frankly. "And they are rather noisy. You might get frightened." "Not if I was sitting alongside of you," was the tender reply. Joey's anxiety for his company renewed Hughie's depression of spirits. Admiration and confidence are very desirable tributes to receive, but when they come from every quarter save the right one the desirability of that quarter is only intensified. Poor human nature! Hughie sighed again in a manner which caused the entire canoe to vibrate. Miss Gaymer suddenly turned the conversation. "What was that person talking to you about, Hughie?" she inquired. "Who?" "That person that came with us in the train. MissJoey's mouth twisted itself into a hopeless tangle. "Freshwater?" said Hughie, reddening. composure. Hughie looked at the small flushed face before him rather curiously. "Why, Joey?" he asked. "Never mind!" replied Miss Gaymer primly. After that the conversation languished, for they were approaching the race-course, and boats of every size and rig were thronging round them. There was the stately family gig, with an academic and myopic paterfamilias at the helm and his numerous progeny at the oars, sweeping the deep of surrounding craft like Van Tromp's broom. There was the typical May Week ar |