Every word of this was heard by the old negro, who was sitting on a bench in the little vine-colored porch, close under an open window, of the room in which Mr. Dustin stood. The old man, who had not known of the cruel punishment inflicted upon his “lil Marse,” was waiting patiently for Arthur to come out and bring him his supper, as the boy had done every evening since they came there to live.
Now he said to himself: “Dat’s all right, Marse Dustin. I did beat yo boy, an I do it agin if heem tetch my honey lamb; but yo sha’n’t nebber hab de chance to tun ole Phin Dale from yo house. No, sah; he done go of his own sef, befo ebber he ’lowin you to do sich a ting. An when he go he isn’t gwine erlone. No, sah.”
Just then little Cynthia came out with his supper, and said that Arthur was asleep. The old man ate his frugal meal in silence; but a train of thoughts was passing through his head much more rapidly than usual. They were all travelling in the same direction, and it was back toward his old Virginia home.
After finishing his supper on the memorable evening of Arthur’s unjust punishment, Mr. John Dustin stepped softly into the woodshed, which, in that overcrowded household, had seemed to be the only place that could be given up for an extra sleeping-room. He closed the door behind him, and, by the light of a candle that he carried, gazed long and earnestly at the tear-stained face of the child who lay on a rude cot. It was hot and flushed, and the sleeping boy tossed and moaned as though visited by unhappy dreams. Once he called out: “Don’t let them whip me, mamma! I haven’t been naughty. Indeed I have not!”
At this the man, as though fearful of awakening the sleeper, hastily retired from the place, and there was a suspicious moisture in his eyes as he re-entered the other room.
Here he said: “Wife, I believe we have treated that little chap very unjustly. My brother Richard was the most truthful and honorable boy and man I ever knew, and I am inclined to think the son takes after his father. Hereafter I shall try to make his life pleasanter and happier, and in this I want you to help me.”
Mrs. Dustin made no answer to this, for her heart was hardened against the orphan lad, and she really believed him to be the sly bad boy that Dick strove to make him appear. “I will watch him more closely than ever, and show him up in his true light yet,” she thought, as she bent her head over her sewing so that her husband could not see her face. “He sha’n’t stand in the way of my children, and I’ll believe my own Dick’s word before his every time,” was her mental resolve.
