The crowd below could hear everything. Ferrier sprung out of the bed, fell over a chair, rose to his feet, scrambled out the door, and came flying down the back way, yelling every jump.
“Help! A dog! A mad cat!”
The onlookers stood perfectly still, while Ferrier rushed into the yard, with the turtle hanging on to his night shirt.
“Take it off! Kill it!” shouted the Englishman.
“Des let him run,” whispered Uncle George.
Round and round the frightened fellow went, with the turtle swinging against his legs, now and then scratching them.
“Knock this thing off, George,” he cried to the old negro.
“Ef you’ll stop so I kin hit it widout hittin’ you,” was the reply.
Picking up a broom handle, George cracked the creature on the head and broke it loose.
“What in the name of the Lord is that, George?” asked the Briton, as he turned and gazed upon the dying turtle.