Rough Diamond

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The two boys were ten and twelve years old, their names were Piet and Erasmus Jacobs, and they were bored. They sat on the steps leading to the rear stoep of the main house on their father’s farm in Griqualand in southern Africa, and considered various means by which they might relieve that boredom. There was always the balance of their chores, of course, tasks that never seemed to end, but the majority of their assigned work had been attended to and the others, they felt, could wait, at least until a little entertainment had been indulged in.

“I’ll race you to the barn!”

“I’m too tired. Besides, you always win. Anyways, it’s too nice a day.”

It was a nice day, indeed; a warm pleasant autumn day with the cackle of hens from the yard, the grunt of the varks wallowing in the mud of their sty, the smell of fresh hay in the air and the mealies drying in the crib, the sight of cattle grazing peacefully in the distance, and, far off the kopjes, the rounded hills, bordering the river.

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