A MAN'S STORY.
Three days longer Penn lay there on his rude bed in the cave, helpless still, and still in ignorance.
Pomp repeatedly assured him that all was well, and that he had no cause for anxiety, but refused to enlighten him. The negro's demeanor was well calculated to inspire calmness and trust. There was something truly grand and majestic, not only in his person, but in his character also. He was a superb man. Penn was never weary of watching him. He thought him the most perfect specimen of a gentleman he had ever seen; always cheerful, always courteous, always comporting himself with the ease of an equal in the presence of his guest. His strength was enormous. He lifted Penn in his arms as if he had been an infant. But his grace was no less than his vigor. He was, in short, a lion of a man.
Cudjo was more like an ape. His gibberings, his grimaces, his antics, his delight in mischief, excited in the mind of the convalescent almost as much surprise as the other's princely deportment. For hours together he would lie watching those two wonderfully contrasted beings. Petulant and malicious as Cudjo appeared, he was completely under the control of his noble companion, who would often stand looking down at his tricks and deformity, with composedly folded arms and an air of patient indulgence and compassion beautiful to witness.
Meanwhile Penn gradually regained his strength, so that on the fourth day Pomp permitted him to talk a little.
"Tell me first about my friends," said Penn. "Are they well? Do they know where I am?"
"I hope not, sir," said the negro, with a significant smile, seating himself on the giant's stool. "I trust that no one knows where you are."
"What, then, must they think?" said Penn. "How did I leave them?"
"That is what they are very much perplexed to find out, sir."
"You have heard from them, then?"