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Schreiner, Olive, 1855-1920

"The Story of an African Farm, a novel"


"Oh, Waldo, my dear boy, you are not going to call her," said Bonaparte,
rising anxiously.
"I am going to sleep in the wagon," said the boy, opening the door.
"Oh, we can both sleep in this bed; there's plenty of room. Do stay, my
boy, please."
But Waldo stepped out.
"It was such a little whip, Waldo," said Bonaparte, following him
deprecatingly. "I didn't think it would hurt you so much. It was such a
little whip. I am sure you didn't take the peaches. You aren't going to
call her, Waldo, are you?"
But the boy walked off.
Bonaparte waited till his figure had passed round the front of the wagon-
house, and then slipped out. He hid himself round the corner, but kept
peeping out to see who was coming. He felt sure the boy was gone to call
Tant Sannie. His teeth chattered with inward cold as he looked round into
the darkness and thought of the snakes that might bite him, and the
dreadful things that might attack him, and the dead that might arise out of
their graves if he slept out in the field all night. But more than an hour
passed and no footstep approached.
Then Bonaparte made his way back to the cabin. He buttoned the door and
put the table against it and, giving the dog a kick to silence his whining
when the foot throbbed, he climbed into bed. He did not put out the light,
for fear of the ghost, but, worn out with the sorrows of the day, was soon
asleep himself.


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