Grobelaar and Her Leading 
Cases, by Perceval Gibbon 
 
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Title: Vrouw Grobelaar and Her Leading Cases Seventeen Short Stories 
Author: Perceval Gibbon 
Release Date: January 14, 2007 [EBook #20355] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ASCII 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VROUW 
GROBELAAR *** 
 
Produced by Charles Klingman 
 
VROUW GROBELAAR 
AND HER LEADING CASES 
SEVENTEEN SHORT STORIES
BY 
PERCEVAL GIBBON 
AUTHOR OF SOULS IN BONDAGE 
NEW YORK McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. MCMVI 
Copyright, 1906, by McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. 
Published, January, 1906 
TO MY WIFE 
CONTENTS 
UNTO THE THIRD GENERATION 
THE DREAM-FACE 
THE AVENGER OF BLOOD 
THE HANDS OF THE PITIFUL WOMAN 
PIET NAUDE'S TREK 
LIKE UNTO LIKE 
COUNTING THE COLORS 
THE KING OF THE BABOONS 
MORDER DRIFT 
A GOOD END 
VASCO'S SWEETHEART 
THE PERUVIAN
TAGALASH 
THE HOME KRAAL 
THE SACRIFICE 
THE COWARD 
HER OWN STORY 
 
UNTO THE THIRD GENERATION 
The Vrouw Grobelaar, you must know, is a lady of excellent standing, 
as much by reason of family connections (for she was a Viljoen of the 
older stock herself, and buried in her time three husbands of estimable 
parentage) as of her wealth. Her farms extended from the Ringkop on 
the one side to the Holgaatspruit on the other, which is more than a 
day's ride; and her stock appears to be of that ideal species which does 
not take rinderpest. Her Kafirs were born on the place, and will surely 
die there, for though the old lady is firmly convinced that she rules 
them with a rod of iron, the truth is she spoils them atrociously; and 
were it not that there is an excellent headman to her kraals, the niggers 
would soon grow pot-bellied in idleness. 
The Vrouw Grobelaar is a lady who commands respect. Her face is a 
portentous mask of solemnity, and her figure is spacious beyond the 
average of Dutch ladies, so that certain chairs are tacitly conceded her 
as a monopoly. The good Vrouw does not read or write, and having 
never found a need in herself for these arts, is the least thing impatient 
of those who practice them. The Psalms, however, she appears to know 
by heart; also other portions of the Bible; and is capable of spitting 
Scripture at you on the smallest provocation. Indeed she bubbles with 
morality, and a mention of "the accursed thing" (which would appear to 
be a genus and not a species, so many articles of human commerce 
does it embrace) will set her effervescing with mingled blame and 
exhortation. But if punishment should come in question, as when a 
Kafir waylaid and slew a chicken of hers, she displays so prolific an
invention in excuses, so generous a partiality for mercy, that not the 
most irate induna that ever laid down a law of his own could find a 
pretext for using the stick. 
She lives in her homestead with some half-dozen of nieces, a nephew 
or two, and a litter of grandchildren, who know the old lady to the core, 
cozen and blarney her as they please, and love her with a perfect 
unanimity. I think she sometimes blames herself for her tyrannical 
usage of these innocents, who nevertheless thrive remarkably on it. 
You can hardly get on your horse at the door without maiming an 
infant, and you can't throw a stone in any direction without killing a 
marriageable damsel. They pervade the old place like an atmosphere; 
the kraals ring with their voices, and the Kafirs spend lives of mingled 
misery and delight at their irresponsible hands. 
I do not think I need particularize in the matter of these youngsters, 
save as regards Katje. Katje refuses to be ignored, and she was no more 
to be overlooked than a tin- tack in the sole of your foot. She was the 
only child of Vrouw Grobelaar's youngest brother, Barend Viljoen, 
who died while lion-hunting in the Fever Country. At the time I am 
thinking of Katje might have been eighteen. She was like a poppy 
among the stubble, so delicate in her bodily fabric, and yet so opulent 
in shape and coloring. She was the nicest child that ever gave a kiss for 
the asking (you could kiss her as soon as look at her), but she was also 
the very devil to deal with if she saw fit to take a distaste of you. I saw 
her once smack a fathom of able- bodied youth on both sides of the 
head with a lusty vigor that    
    
		
	
	
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