But now they were nearing the home of Frank’s cousins. They inquired one day at an inn if the Thompsons lived near.
“Certainly,” said the man. “Jack,” calling to an old black, “show these gentlemen where the Thompsons live.”
“I’ll go and prepare dem,” said Jack.
And off he went. He was back again in half an hour, and then led the way through the wood.
“What sort of people are they?” asked Frank of Jack, the guide.
“Oh! ever so nice, beautiful people, b-be-beautiful?”
“The old gentleman is my uncle,” continued Frank.
“Oh!” said the guide, “he is a beautiful old man. Bea-utiful!”
Now there were two families named Thompson, one white and the other black; the family old Jack took them to was the black; but judge of the amusement of Frank’s friends when old Jack, standing stick in hand on the right of the group, introduced them to the Thompsons at home. Of course Chisholm, on the spot, demanded an introduction to Frank’s prettiest cousin, who was nursing a pickaninny (a baby), and Fred must go up and shake hands with the old man and call him uncle, and Lyell, not to be outdone in politeness, squatted down beside the old “jin,” his wife, and got into conversation right pleasantly. Poor Frank hardly knew what to do, but when Jack said the old couple liked grogs, he sent for some, and Jack shared it with the Thompsons, and there was such laughing and merriment, and talking and fun, that it isn’t any wonder that after they had left, Lyell laughingly declared he never remembered spending such a pleasant time in his life.
Frank found the right Thompsons next day, and nicer nor braver boys never lived.