Morning, noon
` Now we will feed them , ' said Scott ; ` thrice a day we will feed them ' ; and he bowed his back to the milking , and took a horrible cramp . When you have to keep connection unbroken between a restless mother of kids and a baby who is at the point of death , you suffer in all your system . But the babies were fed . Morning , noon and evening Scott would solemnly lift them out one by one from their nest of gunny-bags under the cart-tilts . There were always many who could do no more than breathe , and the milk was dropped into their toothless mouths drop by drop , with due pauses when they choked . Each morning , too , the goats were fed ; and since they would struggle without a leader , and since the natives were hirelings , Scott was forced to give up riding , and pace slowly at the head of his flocks , accommodating his step to their weaknesses . All this was sufficiently absurd , and he felt the absurdity keenly ; but at least he was saving life , and when the women saw that their children did not die , they made shift to eat a little of the strange foods , and crawled after the carts , blessing the master of the goats .