Such was the condition of affairs when forty-nine long days had crept
by. As to the brightness of the immediate future no misgivings existed.
The days would soon shorten to their normal duration, and be all the
happier for the antecedent gloom. Relief could not in the nature of
things be very far away. Ah, no; it never was; that was the pity of
it--the irritant destined to deepen our disgust--to nourish our
discontent. At Mafeking they were spared at least the galling
consciousness of relief so near, and yet so far. The irritation,
however, was not to be felt yet. We looked confidently to an early
release--so confidently that the decadence of dinners did not distress
us. We considered it of relatively little consequence that provisions
were becoming scarce; they would last another fortnight "in a pinch," we
thought. As for luxuries, we talked of them, and promised shortly to
make up for lost time. The anticipated reunion between bread and butter
was a sustaining thought. The Column might be trusted to carry with it a
sufficiency of firkins to achieve that glorious end; and we were
meanwhile content to be fastidious in our choice of jams, and to be the
bane of our grocer's existence.




CHAPTER VIII

_Week ending 9th December, 1899_


For such comfort as preserved fruit could shed over the soul was still
ours. It was not classed as a "necessary," and the retailers being free
to charge freely for it could sell it at a price too "long" for the