“There, Morgan,” said my father, with a smile, as we crossed the garden, “I am a slave-owner now like my neighbours, and as soon as that man is well and strong, you will have no excuse for grumbling about the want of help.”
Chapter Fourteen.
I was so curious the next morning to see whether the slaves had run away, that I crept down soon after daybreak, and a curious feeling of vexation came over me as I saw that the door of the big shed was open.
“They’re gone,” I said, and ran back and down to the landing-place, to see if they had taken to the boat.
But there it was, all safe, and I drew back and stood watching as I caught sight of a droll-looking object, so busy that he had not noticed me; for about forty yards away there was the boy, coating himself all over with the soft yellow mud he scooped up from the stream, where he stood about up to his knees, rubbing it well, and not forgetting his woolly head, just as I might have used soap.
The appearance of the boy was so comical that I could hardly keep back a laugh. But I refrained, and watched him earnestly at work for a few minutes, before throwing himself down, and sluicing off the thin mud, his black skin appearing once more, and ending by diving out into deep water, and beginning to swim with an ease that I envied.
This went on for about ten minutes, when he came out dripping, gave himself a shake, and then catching sight of me, ran up the bank and as hard as he could go for the shed.
I followed, and on reaching it found that the boy was not visible, having probably hidden himself among the corn-stalks, while his companion lay sleeping heavily—a great savage-looking black.