I keep quantities of both remedies
close at hand, for three or four venomous snakes have been killed within
a dozen yards of the house, and little G---- is perpetually exploring
the long grass all around or hunting for a stray cricket-ball or a
pegtop in one of those beautiful fern-filled ditches whose tangle of
creepers and plumy ferns is exactly the favorite haunt of snakes. As yet
he has brought back from these forbidden raids nothing more than a few
ticks and millions of burs.
As for the ticks, I am getting over my horror at having to dislodge them
from among the baby's soft curls by means of a sharp needle, and even
G---- only shouts with laughter at discovering a great swollen monster
hanging on by its forceps to his leg. They torment the poor horses and
dogs dreadfully; and if the said horses were not the very quietest,
meekest, most underbred and depressed animals in the world, we should
certainly hear of more accidents. As it is, they confine their efforts
to get rid of their tormentors to rubbing all the hair off their tails
and sides in patches against the stable walls or the trunk of a tree.
Indeed, the clever way G----'s miserable little Basuto pony actually
climbs inside a good-sized bush, and sways himself about in it with his
legs off the ground until the whole thing comes with a crash to the
ground, is edifying to behold to every one except the owner of the tree.
Tom, the Kafir boy, tried hard to persuade me the other day that the
pony was to blame for the destruction of a peach tree, but as the only
broken-down branches were those which had been laden with fruit, I am
inclined to acquit the pony.
Pages:
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271