“He doesn’t deserve it,” said Uncle Jack, sternly.
“Big white Mary gib damper,” cried the black excitedly, taking the cake and sticking it in his waistband, while he slipped his spear out of the handles of his bag. “Shanter find white grub. Plenty all ’long big white Mary.”
As he spoke, he emptied the contents of his bag suddenly in the old lady’s lap, laughed at the shriek she gave, and walked off to devour his cake, while Norman and Rifle collected the curious white larvae in a tin to set them aside for a private feast of their own, no one caring to venture upon a couple that were roasted over the embers.
Just then the captain was summoned to the evening meal, and after a glance round, he called to Shanter:
“Here, boy,” he said, as the black came up grinning, and with his mouth full; “go up and look black fellow.—That’s the best way I can think of telling him to relieve Tim,” he said.
The black nodded, shouldered his spear, and marched off.
“He obeys you,” said Uncle Jack, who had looked on curiously.
“Of course. So he does you.”
Uncle Jack shook his head.
“No,” he said. Then the incidents of the day were related, and the captain looked thoughtful.