“Mine no pidney,” said Shanter, starting up from where he had been squatting in one corner.
“Are the black fellows gone?”
“Baal black fellow gone along. Wait till piggi jump down and can’t see.”
“Think so? Come along all dark?” said Rifle. “Yohi. Come along, get flour, numkull chicken fellow. Make big fight.”
Norman frowned.
“Mine glad Marmi Rifle. Mine like plenty stop along here.”
“Well, I don’t,” grumbled Rifle. “I don’t like it at all. I say, Man, don’t you wish we were all safe somewhere else?”
“Yes. No,” said Norman, shortly; “we mustn’t be cowards now.”
“’Tisn’t cowardly not to want to fight like this,” grumbled Rifle. “If I shoot, perhaps I shall kill a black fellow. I don’t want to kill a black fellow.”
Shanter nodded admiringly, for he did not quite grasp the speech.