“Won’t you listen to me, Master Nic?” he cried. “Let me tell the tale.”
“Nic! Nic! come here quick!” cried Hilda, running from the house.
The boy looked wildly from one to the other, threw the rein to old Sam, and ran to his sister.
“Hil dear, what is the matter?—mother?” For answer she threw her arms about her brother’s neck, and sobbing out told him all.
“And Janet—fits of hysterics?”
“Yes; I don’t understand her, Nic. Mother can’t leave her. What shall you do?”
“Go in to them!” said Nic firmly; and giving his sister a push toward the house, he ran back to where the two men stood growling at each other and the horse impatiently stamping as it stood between them and tugged to get away.
“Here you, Brookes,” cried Nic imperiously, “tell me how it happened.”
“He was as nasty as nasty, because the blacks—” began old Sam.
“Silence!” roared Nic. “I did not speak to you.” Old Sam started in amazement, for it seemed to be a strong man speaking, not a boy.