“My reasons? This is one of them,” said Mr. Long, pointing toward the bramble hedge beside the lane.
So intent had every one been over the technicalities of the duel, none had noticed a little figure standing there waiting for a signal—the figure of a little boy. When Mr. Long raised his arm and pointed toward him, he began to run to the group, and now all eyes were turned upon him. He was a pretty child of perhaps eight or nine years of age, and while he ran he kept calling out:
“Daddy, daddy, I’se come, I’se come!”
No one in the group moved, and the little boy ran toward Mathews with outstretched arms. He had almost reached him before Mathews had recovered from the astonishment that had left his face pale. He stepped back, saying:
“Take the brat away! What demon brought him hither? Take him away, I say, before I do him a hurt.”
“’Tis not a demon that brings the like of that to men,” said O’Teague. Then, putting out his hands to the little boy, he cried, “Come hither, my little man, and tell us what is your name.”
The child stopped and gazed with wondering eyes at Major O’Teague, who was kneeling on one knee, with inviting hands stretched forth.
“Mammy said for I to run to daddy,” lisped the little fellow, and he looked round, putting a tiny thumb in his mouth.
“Take the brat away, or I shall do it a hurt,” shouted Mathews.
The child shrank back, and a frightened look came to his face.