She had started off for that state in a great hurry, taking Beanie with her. The sister had died leaving her some money, and she had come back to New York to see her son Robert Lee, who was now married, and master had invited her to come out to Pleasant River.
“Beanie, Beanie,” I gasped, “how handsome you look—and if I’m not glad to see you. Where’s old Ellen?”
“There,” he exclaimed, looking over his shoulder, and lifting my head a little more, I saw Ellen coming down the staircase, leading young George. Bessie had gone away to care for a sick mother, and Ellen was taking care of our baby.
Wasn’t that good old woman glad to see me! “Why didn’t you run to old Ellen,” she said lovingly, “the way you did when you was lost before?”
My mind harked back to the time I first saw her, but I could not very well explain that this affair had been different from my voluntary running away.
Young George’s face was a study. He had heard that his playmate had come back, and he had his fresh young mouth wide open, as if he were going to swallow something nice.
At first, I felt sorry that they had allowed him to see me in my present state. He was only a baby. My colour would frighten him, and he would think I was a strange dog.
That is where I miscalculated. I might have known how he would take the thing, and I might have remembered how often I have said, that children are cleverer than grown people.
His dear mother was shrinking a little bit from me. George, after getting off the staircase, trotted up to me, and threw his arms round my neck. He didn’t hesitate an instant. He knew I was his own Borsie.
“Bad man,” he said after he had nearly hugged me to death, “bad man—make Dordie’s Borsie brack!” and seizing a corner of his little pajama jacket, he spat on it, and tried to rub some of my dye off.