“The poor fellow would only be worse treated were I to speak for him,” said my father stopping short; “but it is terrible that human beings should thus be tyrannised over by their fellow-creatures. It may not be against man’s laws, but it is against God’s law, I am very certain. The sooner we are away from this the better, but I should like to see poor Dio before we go, and again thank him for the service he has rendered us.”
We went round to the stables, where we found Dio, who was grooming the horses. My father, finding that no one else was present, put several dollars into his hand.
“That’s no return, my friend, for the brave way in which you risked your life to save ours,” he said; “but I have nothing else except my bare thanks to give you. You must remember, however, that I wish always to remain your friend, and if I have the power, to repay you in a more substantial manner.”
“Dis black boy no want any reward,” answered Dio, offering to return the money.
My father, however, pressed it on him, and without much difficulty induced him to keep it. As soon as breakfast was over, the horses were brought round. I believe that my mother made a present to Mammy Coe of the gayest article of dress she possessed, which she guessed would be far more welcome than money.
Our host treated us with but scant courtesy as we took our departure.
“Just tell Denis O’Dwyer, if you find him alive, that you saw me, and that I hope to liquor up with him next time I go his way.”
My father thanked him for his hospitality, but he made no reply, and turning on his heel, re-entered his house. We found Dio, who had run on, waiting for us out of sight of the house. He waved his hand, but said nothing.
Eager to reach Uncle Denis’s farm, my father drove on as fast as the horses could trot over the rough track. We had to endure the same amount of bumping and jolting as on the previous day. My poor mother’s anxiety increased as we approached my uncle’s farm. We met with no one who could give us any information. Since the fearful danger we had been in, she had become much more nervous than was her wont, and consequently could not help expecting to hear the worst. Great was her joy, therefore, when, on driving up to the door, who should we see but Uncle Denis himself seated in the porch, smoking a cigar.
“I’m glad to see you, sister,” he said, “but Doctor O’Dowd had no business to frighten you. He is always so accustomed to kill his patients that he fancies they are all going to die under his hand, and faith, it’s no fault of his if they get well.”