“All right,” I said; “it won’t hurt you.”
“But um do ’tink horrid, Mass’ George.”
“We’ll carry it the other way, side by side, as soon as we get out of the trees,” I said; and we went on a little further, when the boy uttered a shout.
“What’s the matter now?” I said.
“De fly, Mass’ George.”
“Never mind the flies,” I said; “they will not hurt you.”
“But dey do, Mass’ George. Dey keep tink Pomp am de head, and sit on um and bite lil bit out ob um arm and neck. Poor nigger hardly got a bit ob clothes on.”
“And a good job too, Pomp,” I cried. “I wish I hadn’t. Phew! It is hot!”
After divers changes about, in which I got my fair share of the nuisance, we reached the house, to find my father at home; and he, Morgan, and Hannibal came on to meet our triumphant procession.
“Bravo, George!” said my father; “why, that’s quite a patriarch. How did you manage to kill him?”