I guess I'll shoot duiker first before Pa lets me shoot kudu or bushbuck

Karl stated and Sean frowned.

What's the new teacher like? he asked. He looks all right one of the

others answered. Jimmy and I saw him at the station yesterday. He's

thin and got a mustache. He doesn't smile much. I suppose next

holiday Pa will take me shooting across the Tugela, Karl said

aggressively. I hope he's not too keen on spelling and things, Sean

declared. I hope he doesn't start all that decimal business again, like

old Lizard did. There was a round of agreement and then Garrick made

his first contribution. Decimals are easy.

There was a silence while they all looked at him.

I might even shoot a lion, said Karl.

There was a single schoolroom to accommodate the youngest upwards of

both sexes. Double desks; on the walls a few maps, a large set of

multiplication tables and a picture of Queen Victoria. From the dais Mr

Anthony Clark surveyed his new pupils. There was a hushed anticipation;

one of the girls giggled nervously and Mr Clark's eyes sought the sound,

but it stopped before he found it. It is my unfortunate duty to attempt

your education, he announced. He wasn't joking. Long ago his sense of

vocation had been swamped by an intense dislike for the young: now he

taught only for the salary. It is your no more pleasant duty to submit

to this with all the fortitude you can muster, he went on, looking with

distaste at their shining faces. What's he saying? whispered Sean

without moving his lips.

Shh, said Garrick.

Mr Clark's eyes swivelled quickly and rested on Garrick. He walked

slowly down the aisle between the desks and stopped beside him; he took

a little of the hair that grew at Garrick's temple between his thumb and

his forefinger and jerked it upwards. Garrick squeaked and Mr Clark

returned slowly to his dais. We will now proceed. Standard Ones kindly

open your spelling books at page one. Standard Twos turn to page

fifteen. . . . He went on allocating their work. Did he hurt you?

breathed Sean. Garrick nodded almost imperceptibly and Sean conceived

an immediate and intense hatred for the man. He stared at him.

Mr Clark was a little over thirty years old, thin, and his tight

three-piece suit emphasized this fact. He had a pale face made sad by

his drooping mustache, and his nose was upturned to such a degree that

his nostrils were exposed; they pointed out of his face like the muzzle

of a double-barrelled shotgun. He lifted his head from the list he held

In his hand and aimed his nostrils straight at Sean. For a second they

stared at each other. Trouble, thought Mr Clark; he could pick them

unerringly.

Break him before he gets out of control, You, boy, what's your name?

Sean turned elaborately and looked over his shoulder.

When he turned back there was a little colour in Mr Clark's cheeks.

Stand up. Who, me? Yes, you.

Sean stood. What's your name? Courtney. Sir! Courtney, sir. They

looked at each other. Mr Clark waited for Sean to drop his eyes but he

didn't. Big trouble, much bigger than I thought, he decided and said

aloud, All right, sit down. There was an almost audible relaxation of

tension in the room. Sean could sense the respect of the others around

him; they were proud of the way he had carried it off. He felt a touch

on his shoulder. It was Anna, the seat behind him was as close as she

could sit to him. Ordinarily her presumption would have annoyed him,

but now that small touch on his shoulder added to his glow of

self-satisfaction.

An hour passed slowly for Sean. He drew a picture of a rifle in the

margin of his spelling book then rubbed it out carefully, he watched

Garrick for a while until his brother's absorption with his work