Now, at Shoshong the chief was Sekhome, who, you remember, in our last
story, was father to Khama. So when they were at Shoshong, Shomolekae,
the young man who was cook, and Khama, the young man who was the son
of the chief, worshipped in the same little church together. It was
not such a church as you go to in our country--but just a little place
made of mud bricks that had been dried in the sun. There were holes
instead of windows, and there was no door in the open doorway; and on
the top of the little building was a roof of rough, reedy grass.
These were the days that you heard of in the last story, when Khama,
seeing his tribe attacked by the fierce Lobengula, rode out on
horseback at the head of his regiment of cavalry and fought them and
beat them, and drove away Lobengula with a bullet in his neck.
For two years Shomolekae, learning to read better every day, and
serving John Mackenzie faithfully in his house, lived at Shoshong.
Sometimes Shomolekae took long journeys with wagon and oxen, and at
the end of two years he went with Mackenzie a great way in order to
buy windows, doors, hinges, nails, corrugated iron, and timber with
which to build a better church at Shoshong.
When Shomolekae came back again with the wagons loaded up there was
great excitement in the tribe.
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