"Lost two more of the chickens?"
"Yes, my dear; and it seems so strange that the birds that could take
such care of themselves all through that dreadful flood should be lost
now."
"It does seem strange," I said, as my thoughts went back to the flood,
and I recalled how the fowls took refuge in the pine-trees, and kept
going higher and higher as the water rose, hopping calmly enough from
branch to branch, and roosting high up at the top, to stop picking about
till the flood was sinking, and then slowly descend with the falling
waters, to find quite a feast in the mud.
"You don't think, do you, that those two blacks, Master George--"
"What, like chickens?"
"Yes, my dear."
"The people up at the settlement say they do, and that they can't keep
any fowls at all."
"Then that's it," cried Sarah, triumphantly; "and I was right about that
smell a few nights ago."
"What smell?"
"Of something roasting in the lean-to shed where those two sleep."
"Nonsense, Sarah! It was squirrel or something of that kind that they
had knocked down and cooked."
"No, my dear; it was exactly like roast chicken, and I'm very much
afraid--"
"So am I, Sarah, that you are going to make a mistake. I don't believe
either of them would steal. Ah! Here comes Pomp all in a hurry about
something.--What is it?"
"Hi! Find um, Mass' George," cried the boy, who was in a high state of
excitement.
"Find what?" I cried.
"Oh, yes, Pomp find um; come and see."
"Yes, I'll come," I said. "But, I say, Pomp, there are two chickens
gone. Do you know anything about them?"
"Yes. Such big bird come and take um, Mass' George. Big bird fly ober
de tree, _whish_--_whoosh_! And 'tick um foot into de chickum."
Sarah shook her head in a peculiar severe way; but I guessed that she
had the question of the uniform upon her mind, and she held her tongue,
while Pomp dragged me off to see his discovery.
He led me into a part of the forest where I had not been since the
flood, and there, sure enough, twenty feet above the ground, and
preserving its perpendicular position, was the greater part of the hut,
Pomp climbing up to it in triumph, and then on to the top, with the
result that his weight was just sufficient to dislodge it, and the whole
affair came down with a crash, and with the boy seated in the ruins.
"What do dat for?" he cried in a whimpering tone as he sat rubbing
himself.
"Do what?" I cried, laughing.
"Pull um down down an' break up. How we get um back now?"
"I didn't touch it."
"Not touch um! How um tumble down den? Oh my leg--my leg!"
"No, no; you're not hurt much, Pomp. There, get up, we can't get the
hut back; and you know father said a new and better one was to be built.
We'll set this one up here and make a summer-house of it, to come to
when I'm shooting."
"Eh! What a summer-house?"
"That will be."
"No; dat hut; massa say dat hut."
"But we'll make it into a summer-house."
Pomp shook his head and looked puzzled.
"Pomp find de hut, and Massa George say um summer-house. 'Pose um find
de boat 'ticking in tree, dat be summer-house too?"
"No, no, you old stupid," I cried. "But, I say, Pomp," I continued, as
the thought occurred to me that this might be possible, and that the
boat had not gone down the stream to the river, and from thence out to
sea.
"What Mass' George say?" cried the boy, for I had stopped to think.
"Wait a minute," I cried. Then, after a few moments' thought--
"Why, yes, it is possible; the flood came from the big river, up ours,
and the boat must be somewhere in the forest after all."
Pomp shook his head.
"Done know what um mean," he said.
"I mean that perhaps our boat was washed up somewhere."
"Iss, Pomp wash um up two-tree-day 'fore took away wif de mop."
"I mean the flood carried the boat up into the forest among the trees,
like it did the hut."
"Mass' George fink so?"
"Yes."
"Come 'long find um."
Willingly enough I started with the boy, but stopped directly, for I
remembered that Hannibal had come running up to announce the loss of the
boat, and that he might have some recollection of the direction in which
it was carried.
"Let's ask your father," I said; and we went to where he was in the
garden.
To my great delight, his description tallied with my idea. The boat had
been carried up stream, and full of eagerness we set out, but it was too
late to do much that day, and we soon returned, after planning to start
at daybreak the next morning, Pomp having undertaken to awaken me, while
I arranged with Sarah for a basketful of provisions, so that we might be
able to spend a good long day.
In the course of the evening I related the finding of the hut to my
father, and my hope that the boat might be discovered too, but he shook
his head.
"Extremely doubtful, my boy. But wait a bit and then go and search,
though, if you like; and even if you do not find it, you will have a
glorious ramble along the river-bank."
"Will you come too, father?" I said.
"I should like to, but I have promised for several days to go over to
the settlement to meet the General and Colonel Preston. Take Morgan or
Hannibal with you, if you like."
"Oh no, father," I said, "Pomp will be guide enough; I believe he often
steals off to go long distances into the forest after woodchucks and
squirrels."
"You will take a gun, I suppose. Any game will be welcome."
"Yes, father."
"And take care not to get into danger."
"What danger?"
"Snakes and other reptiles may be in abundance."
"I'll take care."
"And for aught we know Indians may be hunting in the neighbourhood."
"Should not we have heard them or seen them, if they were?" I said, for
I did not like the idea of giving up my trip.
"Well, perhaps so," said my father. "There, I will not stop you; I only
say again, be careful when you do go."
"Can't I go to-morrow?" I said.
"No, I would rather that you did not go right away while I am from home.
Wait a few days, and then have your trip."
I said no more, but of course felt disappointed, and a strange
temptation came over me next day, on finding how bright it was, to go
and explore a little, the more especially that Pomp came up with his
face shining and full of excitement.
"Now," he cried, "go and find summer-house."
"No, no," I said; "the boat."
"Mass' George call him summer-house yesterday."
"We'll go soon," I said, "but not for a few days."
"What Mass' George going do, then?"
"Stop about at home and take care of the house."
"Mass' George tink water come 'gain, wash um away?"
"No, no, I hope not," I said, laughing. "But I'm not going far away."
"Mass' George come fish terrapum?"
"No, Pomp, I'm going to stop about here. Perhaps I shall go and have a
bathe at the pool by and by, but I'm not sure."
"Pomp go wif Mass' George have 'wim."
"No, no," I said, pettishly, for I was out of temper, hot and
disappointed at not being able to go and hunt for the boat. Then I felt
annoyed at having to stop at home when my father had gone to the
settlement, and somehow that place had never seemed to attract me so
much before.
"Father might have taken me," I said to myself, as I thought of how
beautiful the sugar-canes must be now, after the soaking and dressing
they had had with the mud. Then, too, the Indian corn must be waving
gloriously, and I longed to see slaves at work in the cotton-field.
"Father will be seeing all that," I thought, "and it's all nonsense
about stopping and taking care of the place. I couldn't do anything if
there was a flood, or if the Indians came. I should have liked to go."
All of which was very absurd and stupid, but I have known other boys
think and talk in a similar way.
I went to the fence, and stood leaning over it, feeling more out of
humour than ever, and I hit viciously at a fly or two which settled upon
me.
Pomp was watching me all the time in a half puzzled way, and at last he
broke out with--
"Mass' George."
"Don't bother!"
Pomp drew back, took out the knife I had given him, picked up a piece of
wood and began to cut it, while I stood kicking at the fence, and
watching Morgan and old Vanity, as I mentally called him, busy at work
cutting down the former's deadly enemies, the weeds.
"Say, Mass' George."
"Don't bother, I tell you," I cried viciously; and there was another
pause, during which Pomp made a low whistling noise, which was not such
a very bad imitation of the bobolink.