“What on earth d’ye mean, Kickup, by wriggling about your black body in that fashion? If you don’t stop it you’ll fetch way down the hill, and go slap over the precipice, carrying Alice and me along with you. Give it up now, d’ye hear?”
“No, me won’t,” cried Poopy, with great passion, while tears sprang from her large eyes, and coursed over her sable cheeks. “Me will bu’st dem ropes.”
“More likely to do that to yourself if you go on like that,” returned Corrie. “But, I say, Alice, cheer up,” (here he rolled round on his other side,) “I’ve been pondering a plan all this time to set us free, and now I’m going to try it. The only bother about it is that these rascally savages have dropt me beside a pool of half soft mud that I can’t help sticking my head into if I try to move.”
“Oh! then, don’t move, dear Corrie,” said Alice, in an imploring tone of voice; “we can lie here quite comfortably till papa comes.”
“Ah! yes,” said Corrie, “that reminds me that I was saying we men feel and act so different from you women. Now it strikes me that your father will go to all the most unlikely parts of the island first; knowin’ very well that niggers don’t hide in likely places. But as it may be a long time before he finds us”—(he sighed deeply here, not feeling much confidence in the success of the missionary’s search)—“I shall tell you my plan, and then try to carry it out.” (Here he sighed again, more deeply than before, not feeling by any means confident of the success of his own efforts.)
“And what is your plan?” inquired Alice, eagerly, for the child had unbounded belief in Corrie’s ability to do almost anything he chose to attempt, and Corrie knew this, and was proud as a peacock in consequence.
“I’ll get up on my knees,” said he, “and then, once on them, I can easily rise to my feet and hop to you, and free you.”
On this explanation of his elaborate and difficult plan, Alice made no observation for some time, because even to her faculties, (which were obtuse enough on mechanical matters,) it was abundantly evident that, the boy’s hands being tied firmly behind his back, he could neither cut the ropes that bound her, nor untie them.
“What d’ye think, Alice?”
“I fear it won’t do, your hands are tied, Corrie.”