“Yes, sir, and she is afraid you will reprove them and hurt their feelings, if you see them there; so she begs, if—if you don’t mind coming in the back way—”
“Bear me up, Dorcas; don’t let me faint.”
“There—sit up and behave, Marse Tom. You are not going to faint; you are only pretending—you used to act just so when you was little; it does seem a long time for you to get grown up.”
“Dorcas, the way the child is progressing, I shall be out of my job before long—she’ll have the whole post in her hands. I must make a stand, I must not go down without a struggle. These encroachments. . . . Dorcas, what do you think she will think of next?”
“Marse Tom, she don’t mean any harm.”
“Are you sure of it?”
“Yes, Marse Tom.”
“You feel sure she has no ulterior designs?”
“I don’t know what that is, Marse Tom, but I know she hasn’t.”
“Very well, then, for the present I am satisfied. What else have you come about?”