Paul understood that the man was praising him for something, and in his modest innocence strove to set him right.
"No, no, no; not me; I am very little boy, very weak, and so small. I only eat great deal, and drink water, when Jube wanted it very much to keep him strong. It was Jube, my Jube, that helped save the ship. I wish you could see how him swing the pump handle—all the time, daylight and dark, no matter, Jube work, work, work, I no!"
The farmer who had been the most ardent spokesman, stepped forth now, reaching out his hands.
"I say, cuffy, give us yer hand. If you're the feller that stood by Rice when he hadn't a chance left, I'm proud to know ye. If you raly did bring him safe ashore—well, by golly, if I aint e'enamost a crying! Now, you don't say that Dave Rice is alive?"
"Left him much well in New York two days ago; me and Jube," answered the boy, smiling at the farmer's enthusiasm.
"Yes, little masser."
"Master! Now, you don't mean tu say that this little black-eyed shaver is your master, in earnest, cuffy?"
"Yes," said Jube, showing every white tooth in his head. "Reckon little masser won't say no!"
"And you're his slave—a rale, downright sarvant, ha?"
"Yes; that's it!" answered Jube, with another happy laugh. "Little masser hasn't none but me now."