But stay, will he be able to retain that freedom? And this brings me back to my tale.
He went back to the place where he had left Raggy enjoying the leg of a fowl.
The boy was sitting near the mouth of the cave.
“Enjoyed it, Raggy?”
“Ah!” and Raggy smacked his lips and rolled his eyes, “he am plenty much sweet, massa.”
“There’s a wing there too, Raggy. There you are, have that.”
“Tank you, massa. You am bery good, massa.”
I dare say Raggy would have eaten a whole fowl had it been offered to him. After all African fowls are not very big, nor very fat; but very matter-of-fact and self-possessed—that is their moral character.
I have gone into an African village in the evening, just as the fowls were all going to roost in the trees, my object being to buy half a dozen for the pot. As soon as the natives were convinced that the white man had not come to eat a baby, but that he really wanted to buy “tuck-tuck-chow-chow,” and had copper money in his hand to pay for the dainty, then all hands would turn out, and such a hunt you never saw, and such fluttering of wings and skraiching. I have felt sorry for the fowls.
When I got what I wanted, the rest of the “tuck-tucks” would go quietly to roost again as if nothing had happened. I envy such equanimity.