The master was touched by the boy's devotion, though he justly suspected that a yearning for adventure had quite as much to do with Sam's wish to "go to de wah," as his desire to be of service to a kindly master.
"But, Sam," he said, "a common soldier doesn't carry his personal servant with him. If we did that, there wouldn't be enough—"
"A common soldier!" Sam broke in, exercising that privilege of interrupting his master's speech which the personal servants of Virginians always claimed for their own. "A common soldier! Who says Mas' Baillie'll be a common soldier? De mastah of Warlock ain't a common nuffin'. He's a Pegram, he is, an' de Pegrams ain't never been common yit, an' dey ain't a-gwine to be."
"But, Sam," argued his master, "you see we're all going to war. We can't carry our servants with us any more than we can carry our feather beds or our foot-tubs. We must do things for ourselves, now."
"But who's a-gwine to cook your victuals, Mas' Baillie?"
"I reckon I'll have to do that for myself," answered the master.
"What? You? Mas' Baillie Pegram a-gittin' down on his knees in de mud an' a-smuttin' up of his han's an' his face, an' a-wrastlin' with pots an' kittles? Well, I'd jes' like to see you a-doin' of that!"
Baillie was disposed to amuse himself with the boy; so he said:
"But your mammy says you don't know how to cook, Sam, and that you don't seem to know how to learn."
This staggered Sam for an instant, but he promptly rose to the emergency.