"But then you'll let him have something to eat, won't you, papa?" pleaded little Mary Embury. "You never do turn anybody away hungry."
"Certainly not, little daughter; if he could be found he should be fed."
"But shan't I drive him out, sir?" queried a servant man; "we doan' want no beggahs 'bout yar. Dey mout help deirselfs to some o' de silvah when nobody aint lookin'."
"Well, Bill, you might drive him out; he's perhaps a tramp watching his opportunity to help himself."
Bill, well pleased with the errand, set down with alacrity the dish he carried, and hurried toward the clump of bushes that apparently concealed the tramp. "Ki, you ole tief you!" he cried, "git long out ob dis; nobody doan' want yo' hyar! I'se break yo' skull fo' yo' ef ye doan be gone putty quick!"
He pulled apart the bushes as he spoke, but instantly started back in astonishment and terror as he perceived that no one was concealed there.
"Whar dat fellah dun gone?" he exclaimed. "Dis chile doan' see nobody dar nohow 'tall!"
"Ha, ha! you don't look in the right place," cried the same voice that had begged for food a moment before, the speaker seeming to be directly behind him; and Bill wheeled about with unusual alacrity with the intention of seizing his tormentor, but turned almost white with terror on perceiving that no one was there.
"Wha—wha—wha dat raskil done gone?" he exclaimed, "t'ot he right dar, an' he aint nowhar 'bout."
"Never mind, Bill; it seems he has saved you the trouble of driving him off," said Mr. Embury, "and you may come back to your duties. More coffee is wanted here."