“I’m here, and ready to serve you any way I can,” said David, rising from the block of wood which served him for a chair. “I have finished my dinner.”
“All right,” said Don. “I’ve brought you a new dog to break for me. Isn’t he a beauty? He is a present from a friend living in Memphis. He is five months old, and as I found him standing the chickens in the yard this morning, I think it high time he was taught something. I’ll give you what I promised, and what we gave you for breaking the others.”
While Don was speaking, Godfrey, who sat within reach of his son, turned about on his barrel and slily pulled David by the sleeve of his coat; but the boy paid no attention to him—that is, he did not look at him. But he did pull his sleeve out of his father’s grasp, and move toward the other side of the door out of reach.
“I’ll do the best I can with him,” said David.
“And that will be as well as anybody can do,” returned Don. “We will leave him in your charge and I hope the next time I see him, I can take him to the field for a good day’s sport. Take the best of care of him, for he is a valuable animal.”
David caught the pointer by a collar he wore around his neck, and led him behind the cabin to a kennel he had there, while the brothers, after lifting their hats to Mrs. Evans, turned about and galloped away.
“You’re a purty son, you are,” said Godfrey, as David, having secured the pointer, came back and seated himself on his block of wood again. “Didn’t yer feel me a pullin’ an’ a haulin’ at yer coat, an’ tryin’ to tell yer not to promise to break that pup fur them ’ristocrats?”
“I did,” answered David.
“Then why didn’t ye pay some heed to it?”
“Because I want the ten dollars—that’s why.”