"Peace," half-whispered Maud, from a window. "All will be right in a moment." Then drawing in her body, the pale but earnest girl begged her father to have patience. "I have thought of all. Mike and the blacks may be trusted with our lives--I will call them."
This was done, and the county Leitrim-man and the two Plinys were soon in the room.
"O'Hearn," said Maud, inquiringly--"I think you are my friend?"
"Am I my own!--Is it yees, is the question? Well, jist wish for a tooth, and ye may take all in my head for the asking. Och, I 'd be a baste, else! I'd ate the remain of my days wid not'ing but a spoon to obleege ye."
"As for you, Pliny, and your son here, you have known us from children. Not a word must pass the lips of either, as to what you see--now pull, but with great care, lest the rope break."
The men did as ordered, raising their load from the ground, a foot or two at a time. In this manner the burthen approached, yard after yard, until it was evidently drawing near the window.
"It's the captain hoisting up the big baste of a hog, for provisioning the hoose, ag'in a saige," whispered Mike to the negroes, who grinned as they tugged; "and when the cr'atur squails, see to it, that ye do not squail yerselves."
At that moment the head and shoulders of a man appeared at the window, Mike let go the rope, seized a chair, and was about to knock the intruder on the head; but the captain arrested the blow.
"It's one of the vagabond Injins that has undermined the hog, and coome up in its stead," roared Mike."
"It's my son"--answered the captain, mildly--"see that you are silent, and secret."