Thus encouraged, the negro ranged up alongside.
“An’ does you t’ink hims mad?”
“I hope not. I pray not; but I fear that he—”
“Hims got leettle out ob sorts,” said the sympathetic Ebony, suggesting a milder state of things.
As Orlando did not appear to derive much consolation from the suggestion, Ebony held his tongue for a few minutes.
Presently his attention was attracted to a sound in the underwood near them.
“Hist! Massa Orley. I hear somet’ing.”
“So do I, Ebony,” said the youth, pausing for a moment to listen; “it must be some sort of bird, for there can be no wild animals left by the natives in so small an island.”
As he spoke something like a low moan was heard. The negro’s mouth opened, and the whites of his great eyes seemed to dilate.
“If it am a bird, massa, hims got a mos’ awful voice. Mus’ have cotched a drefful cold!”