Then with Sarah’s voice still heard at intervals raging and storming, I strove to think of a plan to get the poor fellow out of his hobble, while at the same time, in a confused way, the scene on the bank kept coming back, and with it thoughts of how the boy had been ready to fight for his father then, while now he had taken to his heels and fled.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said at last to myself, as I felt that our civilising had spoiled Pomp. “To go and talk to her, and tell her not to make a fuss.”
“Pompey! Pompey!” rang out from close by now, and Hannibal let fall the uniform, and clasped his hands.
It was evident that Sarah was coming to see if the boy was in the hut, and there was nothing for it but to bear the blame.
“Pompey! Do you hear me?”
“A—y—ou,” came from right the other side of the house. “You call a me, missie Sarah?”
“Oh, there you are, are you?” she cried; and as I peeped through the trees, I saw her turn sharply round and hurry back, talking volubly the while. Then she called again—
“Pompey!”
“Yes, missie.”
“Come here, sir.”