Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 132: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

si 922 ‘“ But—” the predikant began, “Go!” screamed Oom Piet. Sensing that the old man had reached the limit of his patience, and would not be responsible for his acts, the predikant left and rode hastily away. Yes, there was something magnificent about the way Oom Piet hated. Magnifi- cent—but pitiful, too, for, as time passed, his own people, impatient at his perverse fanaticism, visited him no longer. They were too busy adapting themselves to new conditions and cementing new friendships, to listen to fiery words calculated te fan the fires of an old hate. And so Oom Piet was left alone with his six Hottentot servants—they were de- voted to him, for he had been a wonderful hunter and an understanding master—until his granddaughter, Katje, came te visit him. Katje! Oom Piet disapproved of her— of the way she dressed and the way she acted; he disapproved of everything she did. Katje belonged to the new genera- tion, and had no share in the bitterness of the old toward the English. She had been to a scheol in Durban, spoke English as well as she spoke the Zeal, and had the splendid contempt of youth for the old customs and conventions which were an integral part of her grandfather’s religion— which were his gods. And so Oom Piet disapproved of her and constantly endeavored to dictate to her the way she should go, flying into a terrible rage when she calmly ignored his com- mands. But it only needed her to threaten to leave him and he instantly smothered his anger and begged her to forgive hin— and wouldn’t she please make him some “ veld-bricks!’” No one could bake as well as Katje! Oom Piet loved the girl with the same fierce intensity he hated the Roomeks. He felt young again—and very old—when he looked at her. She was so very like that other Katje—the good vreuw who had died at the concentration camp. And twice a week, in the old days, he had swum a river swarming with crocodiles in order to visit that first Katje, and thought the look in her grave, gray eyes sufficient reward. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. She was small boned; a creature of melt- ing curves and softness; there her Hugue- not blood showed; totally unlike the angu- lar awkwardness of so many of the Boer women. Strong, able to hold her own at riding or shooting with any man, Katje could be all feraininity: She was extremely attached to the old man and respected his unswerving hatred— even if she could not share it—for the race he judged had wronged him; concerned her- self chiefly with his material wants, and in a very little while the bleak old farmhouse blossomed with many comforts Oom Piet had not dreamed possible. Hardened hunter and warrior though he was, he found that he could appreciate fully the soft luxuries Katje procured for him—bed linen, for in- stance, and well cooked, tastefully served meals. Out of the chaos created by the Hottentot houseboy she brought order. It became once again possible—if one pulled aside the gayly colored curtains—to see through the windows; the dagha floors were cleaned and new skins put down. Although Oom Piet grumbled that it was no longer possible for him to spit when and where he wished, he was secretly pleased with the new order of things and made no great objections when Katje insisted on cutting his hair and trimming his beard. Because it angered him she never spoke English, or of the English, in his hearing, and every evening chortle after sundown she went with him to the barn, watched him open the big doors with solemn ritual, and heard him tell the story of the beam. She humored him in this, believing that it was a safe outlet for his emotions, not realizing that the nightly recounting of his grievances added fuel to his hate. She was very young and—after a while—in love. So far she humored him, but no further. She refused to allow him to order her life as he wished to do. She wore what she pleased—and her taste was good, though shocking to the old man; she worked or played as the fancy took her. Lf, “WHERE are you going, Katje?’”’ Oom Piet asked, looking askance at her riding CoOmicooolks.c@