“Tink I sabe you, Mass’ George, and you hab berry narrow scrape; and den you say you tell de massa, and hab me flog.”
“Yes,” I said, half aloud, “he might have seized me.”
“Oh, he hab you, sure ’nuff, Mass’ George, and um be pickin’ you bone now down in de mud—iyah—iyah—iyah!” he roared, in a great burst of laughter as he turned round to the water, rested his hands on his knees, and shouted—
“How you like big ’gator head, eh? You find um berry hard? Hope you like um, sah.”
He faced round to me again, showing his teeth, and with his eyes twinkling with merriment.
“Don’t tell a massa,” he said, pleadingly.
I was conquered, for it was clear enough to me now that the boy’s prank had in all probability saved my life. But I still hesitated as I seized him by both ears now, and gently swayed his head to and fro.
“Dat’s right, Mass’ George, pull um hard. I no mine a bit.”
“You rascal!” I cried; “will you promise never to do it again?”
“Can’t do it again, Mass’ George; ugly great ’gator got de head.”