“But, my darling, Met can’t go!”
“I will, I will, I will! Lenny love Met! Lenny not leave Met. Met go too!”
“But, Met cannot go,” remonstrated the father.
“Oh, yes, sir, I can,” sobbed Meg. “If you will take him, I can go, if you will let me; and I will be a faithful servant to him all my life, and never want any wages.”
“Met go too! Met go too!” sang out little Lenny. It was the chorus of the song.
“But, my girl, how can you go? I would willingly reward you for the care you must have bestowed upon my child, who, but for you, might have perished in this horrible place, but how can I take you away? you have parents or guardians who must be consulted.”
Meg left off crying, and laughed aloud;
“No, sir; little ladies and gentlemen have them things, not the likes of us! The people I live with ain’t no kin to me, though I do call the men uncle, and the woman grannam; I am only their drudge, sir; I am free to go with the child; if you will let me.”
“Met go too! Met go too!” cried the little despot, beginning now to scream and kick with impatience.
He had not been used to have his will crossed. He had been accustomed to prompt obedience from his white slaves.