“Do with him? Take him back, to be sure. There’s no room for a runaway here; you’ll get us all into trouble; and I can’t afford another mouth to feed. I’m surprised at you. And you’ll be out of a job again. What will Mr. Faryner say, neglecting your work like this?”
“We can’t send him back, Susan, to be thrashed and half-starved,” Martin began.
He said no more, for Gundra slipped from the stool, fell upon his knees, and holding up his bare arms, pleaded his own cause.
“Not go back; not go back!” he cried piteously. “Me not eat much; me work very, very hard!”
“What’s them marks on his arms?” said Susan, suddenly.
“Where’s he’s been lashed!” said Martin.
“Wicked; downright wicked!” Susan exclaimed. “Poor lamb! What if he is black? But I don’t know what Gollop will say.”
At this moment the constable entered the room, his cheeks well lathered, and shaving-brush in hand.
“What’s that squeaky voice I hear?” he said. “Bless my eyes, who’s this I see?”
“You may well ask,” said Susan. “It’s a poor little creature of a slave boy what’s run away.”