Phoebe called
to him: he never answered, but set off running to her, and landed
himself under her nose in a wheel somersault.
"I hope you are watching them, Tim," said his mistress.
"Iss, missy, always washing 'em."
"Why, there's one straying towards the wood now."
"He not go far," said Tim coolly. The young monkey stole off a little
way, then fell flat, and uttered the cry of a jackal, with startling
precision. Back went the sheep to his comrades post haste, and Tim
effected a somersault and a chuckle.
"You are a clever boy," said Phoebe. "So that is how you manage them."
"Dat one way, missy," said Tim, not caring to reveal all his resources
at once.
Then Phoebe rode on, and showed Christopher the ostrich pan. It was
a large basin, a form the soil often takes in these parts; and in it
strutted several full-grown ostriches and their young, bred on the
premises. There was a little dam of water, and plenty of food about.
They were herded by a Kafir infant of about six, black, glossy, fat, and
clean, being in the water six times a day.
Sometimes one of the older birds would show an inclination to stray out
of the pan. Then the infant rolled after her, and tapped her ankles with
a wand.
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