Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (short novels in english .TXT) 📕

Chloe accepted, with wondering gratitude, the personal attentions of Mrs. Frost, who bound up the injured foot with a softness of touch which brought no pain to the sufferer.

“You ain't too proud, missus, to tend to a poor black woman,” she said. “Down Souf dey used to tell us dat everybody looked down on de poor nigger and lef' 'em to starve an' die if dey grow sick.”

“They told you a great many things that were not true, Chloe,” said Mrs. Frost quietly. “The color of the skin ought to make no difference where we have it in our power to render kind offices.”

“Do you believe niggers go to de same heaven wid w'ite folks, missus?” asked Chloe, after a pause.

“Why should they not? They were made by the same God.”

“I dunno, missus,” said Chloe. “I hopes you is right.”

“Do you think you can spare Pomp a little while to go home with us?”

“Yes, missus. Here you, Pomp,” she called, “you go home wid dis good lady, and she'll gib you something for your poor sick mudder. Do you hear?”

“I'se goin' to ride?” said Pomp inquiringly.

“Yes,” said Frank good-naturedly.

“Hi, hi, dat's prime!” ejaculated Pomp, turning a somersault in his joy.

“Scramble in, then, and we'll start.”

Pomp needed no second invitation. He jumped into the carriage, and was more leisurely followed by Frank and his mother.

It was probably the first time that Pomp had ever been in a covered carriage, and consequently the novelty of his situation put him in high spirits.

He was anxious to drive, and Frank, to gratify him, placed the reins in his hands. His eyes sparkling with delight, and his expanded mouth showing a full set of ivories, Pomp shook the reins in glee, shouting out, “Hi, go along there, you ol' debble!”

“Pomp, you mustn't use that word,” said Mrs. Frost reprovingly.

“What word, missus?” demanded Pomp innocently.

“The last word you used,” she answered.

“Don't 'member what word you mean, missus,” said Pomp. “Hi, you debble!”

“That's the word?”

“Not say 'debble'?” said Pomp wonderingly. “Why not, missus?”

“It isn't a good word.”

“Mammy says 'debble.' She calls me little debble when I run away, and don't tote in de wood.”

“I shall tell her not to use it. It isn't a good word for anybody to use.”

“Hope you'll tell her so, missus,” said Pomp, grinning and showing his teeth. “Wheneber she calls me little debble she pulls off her shoe and hits me. Hurts like de debble. Mebbe she won't hit me if you tell her not to say 'debble.'”

Mrs. Frost could hardly forbear laughing. She managed, however, to preserve a serious countenance while she said, “You must take care to behave well, and then she won't have to punish you.”

It is somewhat doubtful whether Pomp heard this last remark. He espied a pig walking by the side of the road, and was seized with a desire to run over it. Giving the reins a sudden twitch, he brought the carriage round so that it was very near upsetting in a gully.

Frank snatched the reins in time to prevent this catastrophe.

“What did you do that for, Pomp?” he said quickly.

“Wanted to scare de pig,” exclaimed Pomp, laughing. “Wanted to hear him squeal.”

“And so you nearly tipped us over.”

“Didn't mean to do dat, Mass' Frank. 'Pears like I didn't think.”

Mrs. Frost was too much alarmed by this narrow escape to consent to Pomp's driving again, and for the moment felt as if she should like to usurp his mother's privilege of spanking him. But the little imp looked so unconscious of having done anything wrong that her vexation soon passed away.

In half an hour Pomp was on his way back, laden with a basketful of provisions for his sick mother and himself.