Explore "Benita" by H. Rider Haggard on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
More than three weeks had gone by when one morning Benita, who slept upon the cartel or hide-strung bed in the waggon, having dressed herself as best she could in that confined place, thrust aside the curtain and seated herself upon the voorkisse, or driving-box. The sun was not yet up, and the air was cold with frost, for they were on the Transvaal high-veld at the end of winter. Even through her thick cloak Benita shivered and called to the driver of the waggon, who also acted as cook, and whose blanket-draped form she could see bending over a fire into which he was blowing life, to make haste with the coffee.
"By and by, Missie -- by and by," he answered, coughing the rank smoke from his lungs. "Kettle no sing yet, and fire black as hell."