"Oh, I can't, I can't! I shall die! I shall die!" said Bonaparte, putting
his hands to his side.
"Come, just a little," said Tant Sannie coaxingly; "just a drop."
"It's too thick, it's too thick. I should choke."
Tant Sannie added from the contents of the bottle and held out a spoonful;
Bonaparte opened his mouth like a little bird waiting for a worm, and held
it open, as she dipped again and again into the pap.
"Ah, this will do your heart good," said Tant Sannie, in whose mind the
relative functions of heart and stomach were exceedingly ill-defined.
When the basin was emptied the violence of his grief was much assuaged; he
looked at Tant Sannie with gentle tears.
"Tell him," said the Boer-woman, "that I hope he will sleep well, and that
the Lord will comfort him, as the Lord only can."
"Bless you, dear friend, God bless you," said Bonaparte.
When the door was safely shut on the German, the Hottentot, and the
Dutchwoman, he got off the bed and washed away the soap he had rubbed on
his eyelids.
"Bon," he said, slapping his leg, "you're the cutest lad I ever came
across. If you don't turn out the old Hymns-and-prayers, and pummel the
Ragged coat, and get your arms round the fat one's waist and a wedding-ring
on her finger, then you are not Bonaparte. But you are Bonaparte. Bon,
you're a fine boy!"
Making which pleasing reflection, he pulled off his trousers and got into
bed cheerfully.
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