Above his head rose
the clear blue African sky; at his side were the saddlebags full of women's
clothing. Gregory looked up half plaintively into the blue sky.
"Am I, am I Gregory Nazianzen Rose?" he said.
It was also strange, he sitting there in that sloot in that up-country
plain!--strange as the fantastic, changing shapes in a summer cloud. At
last, tired out, he fell asleep, with his head against the bank. When he
woke the shadow had stretched across the sloot, and the sun was on the edge
of the plain. Now he must be up and doing. He drew from his breast pocket
a little sixpenny looking-glass, and hung it on one of the roots that stuck
out from the bank. Then he dressed himself in one of the old-fashioned
gowns and a great pinked-out collar. Then he took out a razor. Tuft by
tuft the soft brown beard fell down into the sand, and the little ants took
it to line their nests with. Then the glass showed a face surrounded by a
frilled cap, white as a woman's, with a little mouth, a very short upper
lip, and a receding chin.
Presently a rather tall woman's figure was making its way across the veld.
As it passed a hollowed-out antheap it knelt down, and stuffed in the
saddlebags with the man's clothing, closing up the anthill with bits of
ground to look as natural as possible. Like a sinner hiding his deed of
sin, the hider started once and looked round, but yet there was no one near
save a meerkat, who had lifted herself out of her hole and sat on her hind
legs watching.
Pages:
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364