``It is a pity,'' said Mr.Mason--he was goaded to it, Isuppose--`` 'tis a pity Mr.Riddle did not come to-night.''
She shot at him a withering look, for even in her fear she would brook no liberties.Nick spoke up:--``I will go,'' said he; ``I can get through the woods to Fanning Hall--''
``And I will go with him,'' I said.
``Let the brats go,'' she said, and cut short Mr.Mason's expostulations.She drew Nick to her and kissed him.
He wriggled away, and without more ado we climbed out of the dining-room windows into the night.Running across the lawn, we left the lights of the great house twinkling behind us in the rain.We had to pass the long line of cabins at the quarters.Three overseers with lanterns stood guard there; the cabins were dark, the wretches within silent and cowed.Thence we felt with our feet for the path across the fields, stumbled over a sty, and took our way through the black woods.I was at home here, and Nick was not to be frightened.At intervals the mournful bay of a bloodhound came to us from a distance.
``Suppose we should meet the Congo chief,'' said Nick, suddenly.
The idea had occurred to me.
``She needn't have been so frightened,'' said he, in scornful remembrance of his mother's actions.
We pressed on.Nick knew the path as only a boy can.
Half an hour passed.It grew brighter.The rain ceased, and a new moon shot out between the leaves.I seized his arm.
``What's that?'' I whispered.
``A deer.''
But I, cradled in woodcraft, had heard plainly a man creeping through the underbrush beside us.Fear of the Congo chief and pity for the wretch tore at my heart.
Suddenly there loomed in front of us, on the path, a great, naked man.We stood with useless limbs, staring at him.
Then, from the trees over our heads, came a chittering and a chattering such as I had never heard.The big man before us dropped to the earth, his head bowed, muttering.As for me, my fright increased.The chattering stopped, and Nick stepped forward and laid his hand on the negro's bare shoulder.
``We needn't be afraid of him now, Davy,'' he said.``Ilearned that trick from a Portuguese overseer we had last year.''
``You did it!'' I exclaimed, my astonishment overcoming my fear.
``It's the way the monkeys chatter in the Canaries,'' he said.``Manuel had a tame one, and I heard it talk.Once before I tried it on the chief, and he fell down.He thinks I'm a god.''
It must have been a weird scene to see the great negro following two boys in the moonlight.Indeed, he came after us like a dog.At length we were in sight of the lights of Fanning Hall.The militia was there.We were challenged by the guard, and caused sufficient amazement when we appeared in the hall before the master, who was a bachelor of fifty.
`` 'Sblood, Nick Temple!'' he cried, ``what are you doing here with that big Congo for a dog? The sight of him frightens me.''
The negro, indeed, was a sight to frighten one.The black mud of the swamps was caked on him, and his flesh was torn by brambles.
``He ran away,'' said Nick; ``and I am taking him home.''
``You--you are taking him home!'' sputtered Mr.
Fanning.
``Do you want to see him act?'' said Nick.And without waiting for a reply he filled the hall with a dozen monkeys.Mr.Fanning leaped back into a doorway, but the chief prostrated himself on the floor.``Now do you believe I can take him home?'' said Nick.
`` 'Swounds!'' said Mr.Fanning, when he had his breath.``You beat the devil, Nicholas Temple.The next time you come to call I pray you leave your travelling show at home.
``Mamma sent me for the militia,'' said Nick.
``She did!'' said Mr.Fanning, looking grim.``An insurrection is a bad thing, but there was no danger for two lads in the woods, I suppose.''
``There's no danger anyway,'' said Nick.``The niggers are all scared to death.''
Mr.Fanning burst out into a loud laugh, stopped suddenly, sat down, and took Nick on his knee.It was an incongruous scene.Mr.Fanning almost cried.
``Bless your soul,'' he said, ``but you are a lad.Would to God I had you instead of--''
He paused abruptly.
``I must go home,'' said Nick; ``she will be worried.''
``SHE will be worried!'' cried Mr.Fanning, in a burst of anger.Then he said: ``You shall have the militia.
You shall have the militia.'' He rang a bell and sent his steward for the captain, a gawky country farmer, who gave a gasp when he came upon the scene in the hall.
``And mind,'' said Nick to the captain, ``you are to keep your men away from him, or he will kill one of them.''
The captain grinned at him curiously.
``I reckon I won't have to tell them to keep away,''
said he.
Mr.Fanning started us off for the walk with pockets filled with sweetmeats, which we nibbled on the way back.
We made a queer procession, Nick and I striding ahead to show the path, followed by the now servile chief, and after him the captain and his twenty men in single file.
It was midnight when we saw the lights of Temple Bow through the trees.One of the tired overseers met us near the kitchen.When he perceived the Congo his face lighted up with rage, and he instinctively reached for his whip.
But the chief stood before him, immovable, with arms folded, and a look on his face that meant danger.
``He will kill you, Emory,'' said Nick; ``he will kill you if you touch him.
Emory dropped his hand, limply.
``He will go to work in the morning,'' said Nick; ``but mind you, not a lash.''
``Very good, Master Nick,'' said the man; ``but who's to get him in his cabin?''
``I will,'' said Nick.He beckoned to the Congo, who followed him over to quarters and went in at his door without a protest.
The next morning Mrs.Temple looked out of her window and saw the militiamen on the lawn.
``Pooh!'' she said, ``are those butternuts the soldiers that Nick went to fetch?''