“Don’t want it,” said the Indian, obstinately. “Want money.”
“You’d better give it to him, ma’am, and let him go,” said Jane, in a low voice.
“No,” said Mrs. Taylor; “Mr. Taylor is very much opposed to it. The last time I gave money he blamed me very much. If he is not satisfied with coffee and meat I shall give him nothing.”
“Ugh! Ugh!” grunted the Indian, evidently angry.
“I’m afraid of him, mamma. He’s so ugly,” said Carrie, timidly, clinging to her mother’s hand.
“He won’t hurt you, my darling,” said Mrs. Taylor.
But the Indian had caught the little girl’s words, and probably understood them. He scowled at her, and this terrified the child still more.
“Will you have some coffee?” Mrs. Taylor asked once more.
“No; rum.”
“I have no rum to give you.”