“No,” said Sarah, emphatically, “you may have been startled, my dear, but I’m not going to believe that you were frightened. And you are hungry, too, and me not able to get about and cook you a bit of food.”
“Oh, never mind. Now I know you are better I’ll go and get something to eat.”
“Yes, do, my dear, do,” she cried, “and make haste. It was very kind of you to come. But do, please, do take care of yourself, my dear, and don’t go running any more of these dreadful risks. Then you killed all the Indians?”
“They did,” I said.
“That’s a comfort,” said Sarah. “I’m sorry for the poor savages, but it’s their own fault. They should leave us alone. The cowards too—shooting a poor woman like me. Well, there’s an end of them now.”
“Of that party,” I said. “We are afraid that there will be another attack to-night.”
“What? Oh dear me! Now I ask you, Master George, how can I get well with such goings-on as this?”
I did what I could to cheer her up, and went out to find Hannibal just leaving the doctor, and ready to laugh at the wounds upon his arms as being too trifling to be worthy of notice. In fact the pains he suffered did not prevent him from partaking of a hearty meal, at which Pomp stood looking on regretfully. I happened to catch his eye just as I was eating rather voraciously, the excitement and exertion having given me a tremendous appetite.
“Have some, Pomp?” I said, feeling half guilty at sitting there eating, while the poor boy who had suffered so much in our service should be only looking on.
“What Mass’ George say?” he replied, coming nearer.