And there I stood all the time thinking seriously among the trees, and unable to make up my mind what to do. If I did not speak, I should bear the blame, and Sarah would remain angry with me. If I told all, poor Hannibal, who had been led into the indulgence in a bit of vanity by his boy, would be in disgrace, and I knew that the poor fellow would feel it keenly. If I did not tell all, that young rascal would triumph in his cunning and deceit, and enjoy letting me have the credit of playing the trick on Sarah.
“I will tell,” I said, sharply, as I saw Pomp come out licking his thick lips, and enjoying the jam.
Then I thought of how patiently he had borne Sarah’s blows, so as to save his father from getting into disgrace, and that disarmed me again; so that my mind see-sawed about in the most tiresome way, till I gave up in despair, coming to no conclusion, and leaving the matter to settle itself, but determined to give Master Pomp a good thrashing soon, so as to get some satisfaction out of the affair.
“Pomp,” I said, half aloud, “Pomp. Yes, I called him Pomp; and after what I saw in the hut I ought to call old Hannibal Vanity. So I will—Pomp and Vanity. I wish I could make up my mind what to do.”
I had something else to think of the next moment, for I heard a shout, and Hannibal himself came running along the path from the stream.
“Hi—hi—Mass’ George!” he shouted, breathlessly.
“What’s the matter?” I said, running towards the house to get a gun. “Here, quick, come in here.”
I strained my eyes as I ran, expecting to see Indians in pursuit of him, but he alone was visible, and he pointed, breathless and panting, in the direction from which he came.
“What is it?” I cried. “What’s the matter?”
The answer came in a peculiar, low, hissing, rushing sound, as if a storm were coming through the forest. It ceased directly, and died away in a low, dull roar.