CHAPTER 2.X.Gregory Rose Has An Idea.
Gregory Rose was in the loft putting it neat.

Outside the rain poured; a six months' drought had broken, and the thirsty plain was drenched with water.

What it could not swallow ran off in mad rivulets to the great sloot, that now foamed like an angry river across the flat.

Even the little furrow between the farmhouse and the kraals was now a stream, knee-deep, which almost bore away the Kaffer women who crossed it.

It had rained for twenty-four hours, and still the rain poured on.