“Yes, that will do,” he said, approvingly.
“Yes, sir, there won’t be no sun get at him now. Think he’ll come right?”
“Yes, I hope so. Poor fellow!—if he has managed to live through the horrors of that slaver’s hold, now that he has taken a turn for the better he may recover. He must have been a splendidly healthy fellow, and—”
“Well, he arn’t now, sir, anyhow,” said Morgan. “What’ll I do with young coal-box, sir? Better chain him up in the shed, hadn’t I, or he’ll be off?”
My father did not reply for some moments, but stood watching the boy, as he lay with his bright eyes fixed on first one and then the other, like a wild creature ready to act on its defence.
“He must have known a good deal of this negro,” said my father, thoughtfully. “Go and slacken that rope.”
“If I do, sir, he’ll go off like a ’coon, and we shall never see him again,” said Morgan.
“Did you hear my orders?” said my father, in the sharp military way in which he spoke sometimes.
Morgan went to the ring-bolt, and began to unfasten the rope, when at the first quiver the boy half started up and remained crouching, ready to spring away.
“Shall I go on, sir?” said Morgan.