“Yes; but I have generally got them back. Sometimes they are arrested by the Spanish soldiers, if they venture out of the woods; and sometimes, when they keep in their hiding-places, I track them out myself.”
“And do you whip them when you get them back?”
“Of course I do; that teaches them better than to risk it again.”
Somehow, Ralph did not like Mr. Osborne; for, besides that it was hard to help associating him with the cruel office he occupied, there was a something in him as an individual which repelled the boy’s quick, intuitive sympathies. Practically he might be better than most overseers, but how could he be otherwise under a superior like Mr. Arthur?
Ralph had brought in the parrots and paroquets that he had shot, for he had not forgotten them on remounting his pony, and he now took off their skins in a very artistic manner, leaving the beautiful plumage almost unruffled, much to the delight of Camilla, who thanked him for his thoughtfulness of her.
Upon the journey homeward, the two spotted ponies, keeping close together, galloped, trotted or walked, according to the fancies of their riders or the variations of the road, while the horses of the older people jogged more steadily.
“I wonder,” said Camilla, “if Jumbo will not often think of you? I know he will, though—he cannot help it.”
“I hope he will,” said Ralph; “and I hope, too, that he will not suffer. Your father does not seem at all anxious to get him back.”
“Oh, no! papa does not care for his running away. He says that if the revolution
should succeed, the new government would free all the slaves, and he is willing that this should be done. Somehow, he is a slaveholder against his will.”