“That’s true,” cried Mills, with a laugh, in which all the party except Christian joined more or less sarcastically according to humour.
“Oh, mother,” exclaimed Otaheitan Sally, going into her hut on tiptoe a few minutes later, with her great eyes dilated in horror, “the white mens is talkin’ of shootin’ Timoa and Nehow!”
“Never mind, dear,” replied her mother in her own language, “it’s only talk. They’ll never do such a thing. I’m sure Mr Young did not agree to help in such a deed, did he?”
“O no, mother,” answered Sally, with tremendous emphasis; “he said it would be very very, wicked to do such tings.”
“So it would, dear. No fear. It’s only talk.”
Satisfied with this assurance, Sally went off with a cleared visage to superintend some operation in connection with her ever-increasing infantry charge, probably to pay some special attention to her favourite Charlie, or to chaff “that booby” Thursday October, though, to say truth, Thursday was no booby, but a smart intelligent fellow.
The very next day after that, Timoa and Nehow came down to Edward Young as he was at work alone in his yam-field. This field was at a considerable distance from the settlement, high up on the mountain-side. The two men had left their weapons behind them.
“We’s comed for give you a helpin’ hand, Missr Yong, if you no lay hands on us,” said Nehow.
“I have no wish to lay hands on you,” replied Young; “besides, I have no right to do so. You know I never regarded you as slaves, nor did I approve of your bad treatment. But let me advise you to rejoin us peaceably, and I promise to do what I can to make things go easier.”
“Nebber!” exclaimed Nehow, fiercely.