“Why, mass’r, you no hab go to bed yet,” said Poopy, still feeling and expressing surprise at her master’s unwonted irregularity. “Is you ill?”
“Not at all, my good girl, only a little tired. It is not a time for me to take much rest when the savages are said to be about to attack us.”
“When is they coming?” inquired the girl, meekly. The pastor smiled as he replied,—“That is best known to themselves, Poopy. Do you think it likely that murderers or thieves would send to let us know when they were coming?”
“Hee! hee!” laughed Poopy, with an immense display of teeth and gums.
“Is Alice awake?” inquired Mr Mason.
“No, her be sound ’sleep wid her two eye shut tight up, dis fashion, and her mout’ wide open—so.”
The representations of Alice’s condition, as given by her maid, although hideously unlike the beautiful object they were meant to call up to the father’s mind, were sufficiently expressive and comprehensible.
“Go wake her, my girl, and let us have breakfast as soon as you can. Has Will Corrie been here this morning?”
“Hims bin here all night,” replied the girl, with a broad grin—(and the breadth of Poopy’s broad grin was almost appalling!)
“What mean you? has he slept in this house all night?”