"Well, Reverend, it's the result of my observin's."
"Yes?"
"Yes, sir. Cap'n thinks this country should be cultivated. Talks free on this point. Naturally, Injuns will do the harvestin'. Naturally, again, the Cap'n will get his share of the harvest."
Father Osuna looked steadily at Brown. "You think Captain Farquharson would burden our Indians still further? Have they not been already plundered and cast out? Captain Farquharson's—our government could not contemplate making their peonage more complete. It is impossible."
Brown, slowly moving from side to side in his chair, eyed the padre. "Reckon 'twon't hurt 'em to work a sight more than they do. Our niggers in the South hustle and it does 'em good, besides creatin' wealth."
The friar paced nervously up and down the little room. "My poor children have been deprived of their own; the labor of their hands is being exploited; the welfare of their souls is forgotten. Am I helping to forge their fetters stronger? God forbid."
Brown arose and picked up his hat from the floor. "O, the Cap'n's a pretty good fellow, but smart, you see! He won't treat these 'ere natives worse than the next one."
The friar did not heed him. "This province goes to England, doubtless. If my little ones are oppressed, I'll appear before the queen and demand their rights. I'll claim my privilege of speaking in the House of Commons. The plagues of Egypt will fall on a land which permits such infamy."
"Excuse me, Reverend, I'll be going."
"O, good-day, my friend. Remember, 'Yes.' Shall I write it, or will you remember it?"