In response to our call, a dripping sentry peered out, and told
us it was, as we hoped, Wolhuter's store, and that he would call the
proprietor. Many minutes elapsed, during which intense stillness
prevailed, seeming to emphasize how desolate a spot we had reached, and
broken only by the splash of the heavy rain. Then the door opened, and a
man appeared to be coming at last, only to disappear again in order to
fetch coat and umbrella. Eventually it turned out the owner of the house
was a miller, by birth a German, and this gentleman very kindly gave us
a night's hospitality. He certainly had not expected visitors, and it
took some time to allay his suspicions as to who we were and what was
our business. Accustomed to the universal hospitality in South Africa,
I was somewhat surprised at the hesitation he showed in asking us into
his house, and when we were admitted he claimed indulgence for any
shortcomings by saying his children were ill. We assured him we should
give no trouble, and we were so wet and cold that any roof and shelter
were a godsend. Just as I was going to bed, my maid came and told me
that, from a conversation she had had with the Kaffir girl, who seemed
to be the only domestic, she gathered that two children were suffering
from an infectious disease, which, in the absence of any medical man,
they had diagnosed as smallpox.
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