Fians, Fairies and Picts

Sometimes it seems that the stones are really speaking speaking of the old things, of the time when the strange fishes and animals lived that are turned into stone now, and the lakes were here; and then of the time when the little Bushmen lived here, so small and so ugly, and used to sleep in the wild dog holes, and in the sloots, and eat snakes, and shoot the bucks with their poisoned arrows Now the Boers have shot them all, so that we never see a little yellow face peeping out among the stones And the wild bucks have gone, and those days, and we are here. WALDO, in The Story of an African Farm.