“Tell you what,” I said; “I’ll fetch Pomp first. He has eyes like a cat.”
“The very thing, sir. Fetch him,” whispered Morgan, and I hurried back to our quarters, roused up Pomp, who was ill-tempered at being disturbed, and taking him by the wrist I led him to Morgan’s post, telling him in whispers the while what I wanted of him.
“But it all dark,” he said, peevishly. “How Pomp go to see in um dark? Wait till a-morrow morning.”
“Come, Pomp,” I said; “don’t be foolish. You have such good eyes, and we want you to see.”
“No; not good eyes,” he said. “All seepy now out ob ’em.”
“Hush! Don’t talk,” I said, gently.
“How Pomp see which way um go if don’t talk lil bit? I tink you berry cross on poor lil nigger, Mass’ George.”
“Hist! Here we are.”
“Hah! Now we shall see,” said Morgan, eagerly. “Come, Pomp, look over yonder—straight away beneath that tall tree that goes to a point. Now then, what can you see?”
“House,” replied the boy, shortly.