Emory dropped his hand, limply.
“He will go to work in the morning,” said Nick; “but mind you, not a lash.”
“Very good, Master Nick,” said the man; “but who's to get him in his cabin?”
“I will,” said Nick. He beckoned to the Congo, who followed him over to quarters and went in at his door without a protest.
The next morning Mrs. Temple looked out of her window and saw the militiamen on the lawn.
“Pooh!” she said, “are those butternuts the soldiers that Nick went to fetch?”