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.God be with you, young man, and be kind to that wounded one.'When the Widow Summermatter had departed I sat down in Peter's armchair andtook stock of the place.It was quiet and simple and homely, and through thewindow came the gleam of snow on the diamond hills.On the table beside thestove were Peter's cherished belongings his buckskin pouch and the pipe whichJannieGrobelaar had carved for him in St Helena, an aluminium field matchbox I hadgiven him, a cheap largeprint Bible such as padres present to welldisposedprivates, and an old battered _Pilgrim's _Progress with gaudy pictures.Theillustration at which I opened showed Faithful going up to Heaven from thefire ofVanity Fair like a woodcock that has just been flushed.Everything in the roomwas exquisitely neat, and Iknew that that was Peter and not the Widow Summermatter.On a peg behind thedoor hung his muchmended coat, and sticking out of a pocket I recognized asheaf of my own letters.In one corner stood something which I had forgottenabout an invalid chair.The sight of Peter's plain little oddments made me feel solemn.I wondered ifhis eyes would be like Mary's now, for I could not conceive what life would befor him as a cripple.Very silently I opened the bedroom door and slippedinside.Page 123 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlHe was lying on a camp bedstead with one of those striped Swiss blanketspulled up round his ears, and he was asleep.It was the old Peter beyonddoubt.He had the hunter's gift of breathing evenly through his nose, and thewhite scar on the deep brown of his forehead was what I had always remembered.The only change since I last saw him was that he had let his beard grow again,and it was grey.As I looked at him the remembrance of all we had been through together floodedback upon me, and I could have cried with joy at being beside him.Women,bless their hearts! can never know what long comradeship means to men; it issomething not in their lives something that belongs only to that wild,undomesticated world which we forswear when we find our mates.Even Maryunderstood only a bit of it.I had just won her love, which was the greatestthing that ever came my way, but if she had entered at that moment I wouldscarcely have turned my head.I was back again in the old life and was notthinking of the new.Suddenly I saw that Peter was awake and was looking at me.'Dick,' he said in a whisper, 'Dick, my old friend.'Mr.StandfastMr.Standfast119The blanket was tossed off, and his long, lean arms were stretched out to me.I gripped his hands, and for a little we did not speak.Then I saw howwoefully he had changed.His left leg had shrunk, and from the knee down waslike a pipe stem.His face, when awake, showed the lines of hard suffering andhe seemed shorter by half a foot.But his eyes were still like Mary's.Indeedthey seemed to be more patient and peaceful than in the days when he satbeside me on the buckwaggon and peered over the huntingveld.I picked him up he was no heavier than Mary and carried him to his chairbeside the stove.Then I boiled water and made tea, as we had so often donetogether.'Peter, old man,' I said, 'we're on trek again, and this is a verysnug little _rondavel.We've had many good yarns, but this is going to be thebest.First of all, how about your health?''Good, I'm a strong man again, but slow like a hippo cow.I have been lonelysometimes, but that is all by now.Tell me of the big battles.'But I was hungry for news of him and kept him to his own case.He had nocomplaint of his treatment except that he did not like Germans.The doctors atthe hospital had been clever, he said, and had done their best for him, butnerves and sinews and small bones had been so wrecked that they could not mendhis leg, and Peter had all the Boer's dislike of amputation.One doctor hadbeen in Damaraland and talked to him of those baked sunny places and made himhomesick.But he returned always to his dislike of Germans.He had seen themherding our soldiers like brute beasts, and the commandant had a face likeStumm and a chin that stuck out and wanted hitting.He made an exception forthe great airman Lensch, who had downed him.'He is a white man, that one,' he said.'He came to see me in hospital andtold me a lot of things.I think he made them treat me well.He is a big man,Dick, who would make two of me, and he has a round, merry face and pale eyeslike Frickie Celliers who could put a bullet through a pauw's head at twohundred yards.He said he was sorry I was lame, for he hoped to have morefights with me.Some woman that tells fortunes had said that I would be theend of him, but he reckoned she had got the thing the wrong way on.I hope hewill come through this war, for he is a good man, though a German.But theothers! They are like the fool in theBible, fat and ugly in good fortune and proud and vicious when their luckgoes.They are not a people to be happy with.'Then he told me that to keep up his spirits he had amused himself with playinga game.He had prided himself on being a Boer, and spoken coldly of theBritish.He had also, I gathered, imparted many things calculated to deceive.Page 124 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.God be with you, young man, and be kind to that wounded one.'When the Widow Summermatter had departed I sat down in Peter's armchair andtook stock of the place.It was quiet and simple and homely, and through thewindow came the gleam of snow on the diamond hills.On the table beside thestove were Peter's cherished belongings his buckskin pouch and the pipe whichJannieGrobelaar had carved for him in St Helena, an aluminium field matchbox I hadgiven him, a cheap largeprint Bible such as padres present to welldisposedprivates, and an old battered _Pilgrim's _Progress with gaudy pictures.Theillustration at which I opened showed Faithful going up to Heaven from thefire ofVanity Fair like a woodcock that has just been flushed.Everything in the roomwas exquisitely neat, and Iknew that that was Peter and not the Widow Summermatter.On a peg behind thedoor hung his muchmended coat, and sticking out of a pocket I recognized asheaf of my own letters.In one corner stood something which I had forgottenabout an invalid chair.The sight of Peter's plain little oddments made me feel solemn.I wondered ifhis eyes would be like Mary's now, for I could not conceive what life would befor him as a cripple.Very silently I opened the bedroom door and slippedinside.Page 123 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlHe was lying on a camp bedstead with one of those striped Swiss blanketspulled up round his ears, and he was asleep.It was the old Peter beyonddoubt.He had the hunter's gift of breathing evenly through his nose, and thewhite scar on the deep brown of his forehead was what I had always remembered.The only change since I last saw him was that he had let his beard grow again,and it was grey.As I looked at him the remembrance of all we had been through together floodedback upon me, and I could have cried with joy at being beside him.Women,bless their hearts! can never know what long comradeship means to men; it issomething not in their lives something that belongs only to that wild,undomesticated world which we forswear when we find our mates.Even Maryunderstood only a bit of it.I had just won her love, which was the greatestthing that ever came my way, but if she had entered at that moment I wouldscarcely have turned my head.I was back again in the old life and was notthinking of the new.Suddenly I saw that Peter was awake and was looking at me.'Dick,' he said in a whisper, 'Dick, my old friend.'Mr.StandfastMr.Standfast119The blanket was tossed off, and his long, lean arms were stretched out to me.I gripped his hands, and for a little we did not speak.Then I saw howwoefully he had changed.His left leg had shrunk, and from the knee down waslike a pipe stem.His face, when awake, showed the lines of hard suffering andhe seemed shorter by half a foot.But his eyes were still like Mary's.Indeedthey seemed to be more patient and peaceful than in the days when he satbeside me on the buckwaggon and peered over the huntingveld.I picked him up he was no heavier than Mary and carried him to his chairbeside the stove.Then I boiled water and made tea, as we had so often donetogether.'Peter, old man,' I said, 'we're on trek again, and this is a verysnug little _rondavel.We've had many good yarns, but this is going to be thebest.First of all, how about your health?''Good, I'm a strong man again, but slow like a hippo cow.I have been lonelysometimes, but that is all by now.Tell me of the big battles.'But I was hungry for news of him and kept him to his own case.He had nocomplaint of his treatment except that he did not like Germans.The doctors atthe hospital had been clever, he said, and had done their best for him, butnerves and sinews and small bones had been so wrecked that they could not mendhis leg, and Peter had all the Boer's dislike of amputation.One doctor hadbeen in Damaraland and talked to him of those baked sunny places and made himhomesick.But he returned always to his dislike of Germans.He had seen themherding our soldiers like brute beasts, and the commandant had a face likeStumm and a chin that stuck out and wanted hitting.He made an exception forthe great airman Lensch, who had downed him.'He is a white man, that one,' he said.'He came to see me in hospital andtold me a lot of things.I think he made them treat me well.He is a big man,Dick, who would make two of me, and he has a round, merry face and pale eyeslike Frickie Celliers who could put a bullet through a pauw's head at twohundred yards.He said he was sorry I was lame, for he hoped to have morefights with me.Some woman that tells fortunes had said that I would be theend of him, but he reckoned she had got the thing the wrong way on.I hope hewill come through this war, for he is a good man, though a German.But theothers! They are like the fool in theBible, fat and ugly in good fortune and proud and vicious when their luckgoes.They are not a people to be happy with.'Then he told me that to keep up his spirits he had amused himself with playinga game.He had prided himself on being a Boer, and spoken coldly of theBritish.He had also, I gathered, imparted many things calculated to deceive.Page 124 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]