It was a strange feeling to be confronted by the young children. They stared at me with interest and I felt it was going to be a trying ordeal and I only hoped that I should be able to deal with it satisfactorily. I managed to struggle through and began by teaching the alphabet and nursery rhymes.

When the children had gone to their homes Lilias and I cooked simple meals for ourselves in the little kitchen and discussed what had happened during the day. Lilias was in her element; I was less sure of myself. This was Lilias’ vocation, I reminded her. My abilities in the teaching field were yet to be tested.

“You’ll come to it,” she assured me. “You must remember that you mustn’t lose your patience. Never let them see that you are ruffled in any way. You’ve lost the battle if you do; and there is a certain battle on. They’re watching you as closely as you are watching them. You have to show the right amount of authority. Be kind. Be patient. But make them aware all the time that you are in charge.”

“I’ll try to remember that. I’ll stick to the rules … if I can.”

For the first week I thought of little but doing the job. The days started to pass quickly. The routine had to be followed rigorously. Lessons all morning. The children came at nine and left at twelve. Then we would cook something light and eat a meal to be ready for when they returned at two o’clock; they stayed till four.

We were becoming known in the town and the shopkeepers were very pleasant to us. We had the impression that the townsfolk were pleased that the school was open again.

Of all the children in my class there was one girl who interested me particularly. I was haunted by her rather sad little face. Her name was Anna Schreiner and she was about five years old. Her mother brought her to school each morning and called to pick her up at the appointed times with most of the parents of the younger children. She was a quiet child and, if addressed, usually replied in monosyllables; she hardly ever smiled. Her mother was young and pretty, fair-haired, blue-eyed and rather plump. It struck me that Anna was brooding on something which she could not get out of her mind.

One day the children were copying the letters I had put on the blackboard; so deep in concentration were they that there was hardly a sound except that of pencils scratching on slates. I wandered round, looking at what they were doing, commenting now and then. “Is that an 0 or a Q? A Q? It hasn’t got its little tail on, has it?” “The loop on that P comes down too far. See?” Then I came to Anna. She was working laboriously and all her letters seemed perfect.

I sat down beside her. “That’s very good,” I said.

She did not smile. She just went on with the letters.

“Is everything all right, Anna?”

She nodded.

“Do you like school?”

She nodded again.

“You are happy here?”

Again the nod. I was getting nowhere.

She continued to bother me. I thought she was an unnatural child, aloof from the others.

I watched her with her mother. Her face did not brighten when she saw her. She just ran up to her and took her hand; and they went off together.

I told Lilias of my interest in the child.

“Children vary,” she said. “She’s just a solemn child.”

“She has that pretty mother. I wonder if she is an only child?”

“John Dale would probably know. Ask him next time you see him.”

That time would not be far off, I guessed. He was a frequent visitor to the schoolhouse. He often brought food and wine as he had on the first day and we would share what he called a “picnic.”

When I asked him about Anna Schreiner he said: “Oh yes. Poor child. I understand her living in perpetual fear. She probably imagines Hell’s Gates are open wide to receive her if she’s five minutes late for school.”

“Her mother looks as though she is quite a jolly person.”

“Greta, yes. Well, she was … once. I don’t understand why she married old Schreiner. Although there were rumours …”

“Rumours?” I cried.

“It’s probably a lot of scandal.”

“Mr. Dale,” said Lilias. “It helps us to teach our children if we know something of their background.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I know. Piet Schreiner is rather a formidable character. Calvinistic … puritanical. There are a few like him in this town … and all over the country, it seems. There is a strong feeling of puritanism among the Boers. He is even more fanatical than most. One could imagine his going off on the Great Trek. Hard-working … strictly honest and … godly—so he would say. It seems sad that someone with his virtues should put such an interpretation on his religion as to make life miserable for everyone around him. For such as he is, everything people do seems to have its roots in sin. I suppose he himself is always on guard against it.”

“And that’s little Anna’s father?” I said.

“Well … on the surface. There are some who say that is not the case.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lilias.

“Schreiner is all of twenty years older than Greta … she’s the child’s mother. A pretty girl who was inclined to be flighty … once. Her family were strict with her … and I suppose that may have added to the incentive to stray … or to do something that shocks. The fact of the matter is that her family were very friendly with Schreiner. He’s a lay preacher in the chapel which they attend. Whether or not Greta married him because she was in trouble, I am not sure, but I cannot imagine she could have had any other reason for doing so.”

“So Schreiner is not Anna’s father …”

“He calls himself her father. It’s all on the records. The girl is Anna Schreiner all right. The fact is that Schreiner married Greta in a bit of a hurry. No one had thought he would ever marry anyone—let alone a young girl like that. There was a lot of talk about it. However, there it was. They married—that frivolous young girl and the hellfire preacher so much older than herself. It was a nine days’ wonder. There was as much talk about it as when Ben Curry found the Blue Diamond and made a millionaire of himself. But that happened more than five years ago. People forget. They only remember now and then.”

“So that poor child lives with her flighty mother and this fanatically religious man who may or may not be her father.”

“Poor little thing. I don’t suppose she has too good a time.”

“I must try to help her in some way,” I said.

“Don’t get into conflict with old Schreiner,” warned John. “Holy men can be fiendish when they are fighting the enemies of the righteous … which means anyone who doesn’t agree with them.”

“That’s not likely,” said Lilias. “But I know Diana will be gentle with the poor little thing.”

After that I took an even greater interest in Anna Schreiner, but no matter how I tried, it was impossible to get her to talk. She just worked more diligently than the others and quietly walked away with her pretty mother.

What sort of life did they have with each other? I wondered.

ON OUR SECOND SUNDAY in Kimberley Lilias and I were invited to lunch at Riebeeck House.

Myra had called on us on the previous Wednesday about four-thirty, after school had closed.

She said: “I guessed that I should be interrupting school if I came at any other time. Do tell me how everything is going.”

“Very well indeed,” Lilias told her enthusiastically. “We have been agreeably surprised.”

“That’s wonderful. I hear that the school is a great success.”

“That’s a bit premature,” cautioned Lilias, but she was well pleased. “Where did you hear that?”

“From Mrs. Prost, our housekeeper. She is one of those women who know what is going on everywhere.”

“Useful to have around,” I commented. “And how is everything with you?”

“Oh …” There was a brief hesitation. “Everything is very well.”

“And you like the house?”

“It’s … very large and one is apt to get lost. The servants are nearly all Africans. It makes it difficult to … be understood.”

“But this Mrs. Prost, she looks after everything, I suppose.”

“Oh yes. I came to ask you over to lunch on Sunday. It has to be a Sunday for you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Lilias. “That is the best day.”

“Roger wants to hear all about the school. He says you will have settled in and formed an opinion by now.”

“People have been so good to us,” said Lilias. “It was lucky for us that we met you on the ship … and since that mistake about our cabin, we were able to be with you. And now that we are here, well, Mr. Dale has been quite invaluable to us, hasn’t he, Diana?”

I said that he had, for from the moment we had arrived he had taken us under his wing.

“They’re so glad to get the school going again,” said Myra. “You will come, won’t you?”

“But of course,” I said. “We shall be delighted, shall we not, Lilias?”

So it was arranged.

When she had gone, I said to Lilias: “I can’t help feeling that all is not quite right with that marriage.”

Lilias laughed at me. “You and your fancies! First it’s little Anna Schreiner, and now it is the Lestranges. The trouble with you is that you have too much imagination and you let it run wild. You like something dramatic to happen and when it doesn’t you set about creating it.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” I said. “But all the same …”

Practical Lilias. She could only smile at me.

And as I liked to see her happy I smiled with her.

RIEBEECK HOUSE was something of a mansion. Although it was situated in the town, once one had passed through the gates and entered the grounds which surrounded the house, one might have been miles away from any other dwelling.