Christmas morning found the camp at Lindley wakening to a general atmosphere of peace and good will to man.Scarcely fifty miles away at Tweefontein, De Wet's midnight charge had left behind it sixty men sleeping their last grim sleep in defiance of the peace ordained for the Christmas dawn.And, midway between the camp of the living and the line of the dead, there lay the little town of Bethlehem.
After the frosty night, the day came, hot and clear, with the sun beating down from a cloudless sky and the mirage dancing upon the distant horizon.To the men from the north, it was a bit of a shock to exchange Christmas greetings, while the thermometer went sliding up to the mark of one hundred degrees.Nevertheless, they hailed one another lustily, and threw themselves into the spirit of the holiday feast with the zest of schoolboys.
For full three months now, the greater number of the troopers had been dodging up and down over the surface of the Orange River Colony on the heels of the tireless De Wet.After accomplishing forty futile miles a day, after subsisting chiefly upon army biscuits and bully beef, they had earned their right to rest.This, at least, was the opinion of their adjutant.
All the day before, there had been flying rumors of a forced march on the following morning; but no orders had been given, and just at nightfall had come the definite announcement that no move would be made until after Christmas.Those who had seen their adjutant going away from the colonel's tent, half an hour before, were able to draw their own conclusions.The rest accepted the fact as it stood, and made no effort to account for the change in their plans.It was enough for them that two thousand sheep were to be roasted, to the end that every man might eat his fill; and they took an eager hand, next morning, in scooping out the ant-hill and kindling the fires inside.Then, seated on the ground, they spun their yarns while they waited until the white-hot earth on top of the hill gave notice that the oven was ready for the roast.
Carew, meanwhile, was unpacking the neat little parcel which had come to him with Christmas greeting from the Daughters of the Empire.Lined up for inspection before breakfast, every trooper had received an exactly similar parcel; every one had given expression to his thankful heart; then every one had gone away to inspect the offering.
"This is kind of the ladies, very kind," Carew was observing, with a perfectly grave face, as he drew out a handkerchief of spotty red cotton and a khaki-colored nightcap."Look, Weldon! These fit my complexion to a charm, and will be wonderfully warm and comfortable.
What is in your grab bag?"
"Ditto, apparently," Weldon answered."I think I shall keep these to sport about at home in."Carew shook his head.
"Oh, no.The kind ladies wish us to use them now, and you should accept the gift according to the spirit in which it is given."Taking off his wide felt hat, he replaced it with the wool nightcap, covered the nightcap with the handkerchief and then put on the hat over all the rest."And what have we here?" he continued."A pipe?
Oh, the naughty ladies! Cigarettes?" He smelled at them gingerly, then sneezed into a corner of the scarlet kerchief."Matches, shoelaces, and, by George, a cake of soap! Now, if we only had a farmer's almanac and a flannel chest-protector, we'd be quite complete."Weldon laughed.Then he beckoned to a little trooper standing beside the nearest ant-hill.
"Paddy," he said gravely; "these toys are excellent toys.If anything should happen to me, I'll will them to you."Paddy thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out his own nightcap and dangled it by its khaki-colored tip.
"And look at it!" he said slowly."The spirit is willing and full of peace; but what would I be doing with that thing, I who never had a hat on my head till I was ten years old, let alone a cap?""Wrap your feet in it, then," Carew suggested."It's large enough for them both.Paddy, who eats at your ant-hill?"The little Irishman winked knowingly.
"Them as invites theirselves, first off.If it's you and Mr.Weldon, so much the better for Paddy.The rum ration is doubled, the day;knowing the habits of you both, I'm thinking I see my way to getting six times gloriously drunk.There's beer by the hogshead, too.It'll be a mighty Christmas dinner, the first in years I've eaten without cooking.""You generally eat it raw?" Carew questioned blandly.
"Praised be Patrick, no; but it's Paddy who has done the cooking.
This year, I am free from my pots and kettles, and can eat with the best of them.Little Canuck dear, don't ever enlist as a cook.
Nothing spoils the stomach of you like the smell of the warming broth.""You like the change, then, Paddy?" Weldon asked, as he thriftily packed up his parcel and stowed it away in his pocket, with an eye to the gratitude of Kruger Bobs.
"Like, is it? I rejoice greatly and shout, as the Book bids us.It's a man's work I'm doing now; it's with men that I am doing that work, and it's a man who leads me on to do that work, meaning Captain Frazer.""Where is the Captain now?"
Paddy dropped down on the ground, midway between his friends and his ant-hill.
"Over yonder, doing the work of an honest man and a warrior.""That goes without saying.What now?"
But Paddy chose to speak in metaphors.
"He's thrown down his sword and picked up his bottle," he responded enigmatically.
"Not drinking?" Weldon asked incredulously.
"No, little one; not doing, but doing by.He's administering advice and physic to them cormyrants of Queenslanders.The Colonials are a hard race to manage and a greedy." Paddy spoke with an accent of extreme disfavor.
"What have the poor Queenslanders done?"
