He put his tools together, ready for tomorrow, and walked slowly out. At
the side of the wagon-house there was a world of bright sunshine, and a hen
with her chickens was scratching among the gravel. Waldo seated himself
near them with his back against the red-brick wall. The long afternoon was
half spent, and the kopje was just beginning to cast its shadow over the
round-headed yellow flowers that grew between it and the farmhouse. Among
the flowers the white butterflies hovered and on the old kraal mounds three
white kids gambolled, and at the door of one of the huts an old grey-headed
Kaffer-woman sat on the ground mending her mats. A balmy, restful
peacefulness seemed to reign everywhere. Even the old hen seemed well
satisfied. She scratched among the stones and called to her chickens when
she found a treasure; and all the while tucked to herself with intense
inward satisfaction.
Waldo, as he sat with his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms folded on
them, looked at it all and smiled. An evil world, a deceitful,
treacherous, mirage-like world it might be; but a lovely world for all
that, and to sit there gloating in the sunlight was perfect. It was worth
having been a little child, and having cried and prayed so one might sit
there. He moved his hands as though he were washing them in the sunshine.
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