“I think they instinctively believe that all the fruit that grows belongs to them, or at least, as much of it as ever they want, and—maybe they are right,” said Mr. Force.
“That’s pretty morality to teach the young uns! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, ole man. That’s not my way, nohow. I spanked every one of them little niggers with a fine new shingle until they roared again, every time I caught ’em at the strawberries; and, providentially, there were plenty of new shingles handy—left by the carpenters who put the new roof on the back porch,” said the lady from the mines.
But no one replied; and as Mrs. Force had taken her seat at the head of the table, all the party gathered around, while the dog stretched himself on the rug before the fire and watched his family. They wouldn’t get away again for parts unknown, and stay three years—not if he knew it!
It was late when they sat down to tea, but as they were all very hungry, and this was their first meal at home after years of absence, they lingered long around the table.
And when at last they arose and went into the drawing room, still “dogged” by Joshua, it was only for a short chat around the fire, and then a separation for the night.
“Jake, put that dog out,” said Mrs. Anglesea, who could not all at once forget to give orders in the house she had ruled for three years, even now when the mistress was present.
Jake advanced toward the brute, but Joshua laid himself down at Wynnette’s feet and showed all his fangs in deadly fashion.
“’Deed, missis, it’s as much as my life’s worf to tech dat dorg now,” pleaded Jake.
“Let Joshua alone,” said Wynnette; “he shall sleep on the rug in my room, shan’t you, good dog?”
Joshua growled a reply that was perfectly well understood by Wynnette to mean that he certainly should do that very thing in spite of all the wildcat women in creation.