Mass' George

"Yes; an unfortunate young negro from the west coast of Africa."

"Yes, father, but more than that. Hannibal has been telling me, and I think I understand him, though it's rather hard. They lived in a village up the country, and the enemy came in the night, and killed some, and took the rest prisoners to march them down to the coast, and sell them for slaves. Pomp's mother was one of them, and she fell down and died on the march."

"Did Hannibal tell you this?"

"Yes, father, and sat and cried as he told me; and Pompey's his son."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes. He always calls Pompey 'my boy,' and Pomp called him 'fader'

to-day."

"Ah, but that may merely be imitation."

"I don't think it is," I said, eagerly; and I proved to be right, for they certainly were father and son.

The winter came and pa.s.sed rapidly away, and it was never cold to signify, and with the coming spring all thoughts of the Indians and the Spaniards died away.

My father would talk about the Indians' visitation sometimes, but he considered that it was only to see if we were disposed to be enemies, and likely to attack them; but finding we did not interfere in the least, and were the most peaceable of neighbours, they were content to leave us alone.

"And the Spaniards only tried to frighten us away, Morgan," I said one day.

"Well, I s'pose so, Master George; but you see we're so shut up here we never know what's going to take place unless a s.h.i.+p puts in. It's a very beautiful place, but there isn't a road, you see, that's worth calling a road. Ah, there were roads in Carnarvon!"

"I don't believe you'd care to go back to them though, Morgan," I said.

"Well, I hardly know, Master George; you see this place don't 'pear

"But what for?"

"That's what I said to her, Master George. 'Sarah,' I says, 'what had the poor black boy done to make you throw things at him?'

"'Done,' she says; 'didn't you see him put his head round the door and grin at me?'

"'Well,' I says, 'Sarah, my girl, that's only his way of showing that he likes you.'

"'Then I don't want him to like me, and he's more trouble than he's worth.' And there's a lot of truth in that, Master George."

"Why he works hard, Morgan," I said.

"Yes, just so long as you are watching him. Then he's off to play some prank or another. That boy always seems to me as if he must be doing something he ought not to do."

"Oh, he's a very good boy."

"Never make such a man as his father, my lad. Humph! Here he is."

I turned, and there, sure enough, was Pomp making a large display of his white teeth, and holding something behind so that we should not see.

"What have you got?" I said.

He drew a basket forward and displayed four good-sized terrapins, and offered them to Morgan for a present.

"No, no," grumbled the man, "I don't want them, and I'm sure that the missus would find fault if I took them in. She hates them; besides, I'm not going to be sugared over like that, to keep me from speaking out.

Now, look here, you've been fis.h.i.+ng."

"Yes, sah. Kedge de terrupum."

"And I told you to hoe down between those yams, didn't I?"

"Yes, Ma.s.s' Morgan, I going to hoe down de yam-yam."

"But why isn't it done?"

"I d'know," said Pomp, innocently.

"You don't know?"

"No, sah, don't know 'tall."

"But I told you to do them," said Morgan, angrily. "Didn't I?"

"Yes, sah."

"Then why didn't you do them?"

"Wanted to go and kedge terrupum."

"Now, look here, sir, you've got to do what you're told."

"What you tell me, den?"

"I told you to go and hoe those yams, and you neglected the duty to go fis.h.i.+ng."

"Yes, sir, go fis.h.i.+ng; kedge terrupum."

"Instead of doing your work."

"Ma.s.s' Morgan, sah," began Pomp, in a tone of protest, but Morgan interrupted him.

"Now then, how is it those yams are not hoed?"

"Don't know, sah. Tell Hannibal hoe them."

"You told Hannibal to hoe them--your father?"

"Yes, tell um fader hoe um; Ma.s.s' Morgan want um done."

"Yes, but I wanted you to do them."