My Young Master. Opie Percival Read

he said, "your Mars. Bob is six years old to-day—you and he are nearly of an age—and I have given you to him for a birthday present." I looked at Mars. Bob and he looked at me. Old Master continued: "You are to be his, to go with him, to fight with him, and to play with him. If the time ever comes when it is necessary for you to die in order to save him, do it. Bob."

      "Yes, sir," said Mars. Bob.

      "Whose boy is this?" (looking at me).

      "Mine, sir," Mars. Bob answered proudly.

      "What are you going to do with him?"

      "Take him with me wherever I go."

      "And if anyone tries to whip him, what are you going to do?"

      "Kill the feller that tries it;" Mars. Bob answered fiercely; and Old Master leaned back and laughed. "You musn't kill anybody if you can help it," he said. "Now run on."

      We ran out into the yard and tumbled upon the grass under a tree.

      "You belong to me, don't you?" said Bob.

      "Yes."

      "Are you glad?"

      "I don't know yet."

      "But you'd rather belong to me than to your Mars. George, wouldn't you?" he asked, meaning the doctor.

      "I wouldn't belong to him," I replied. "He ain't worth the powder and lead to kill him. I'd fight before I'd belong to him."

      "You musn't say that, Dan—but, so would I." And, after a silence, he said: "If anybody starts to whip you, don't make any difference who it is, come and tell me, won't you?"

      "Yes, and we will both fight him, won't we?"

      "Yes, but I can whip you when I want to, can't I?"

      "Yes, but nobody else shall."

      "I know that, but I can, can't I?"

      "Sometimes, but not all the time."

      "Yes, I can."

      "No, you can't."

      "I'll whip you now if you say much."

      "Much!"

      He struck me and I struck him; we clinched and I threw him, and the next moment I was snatched into the air by the doctor. "You little scoundrel!" he shouted, "I'll wear you out." And he was proceeding to do it, with a riding whip, when Bob jumped upon him like a mad cat; and there we had it, both of us biting him, when Old Master ran out and frightened us all nearly to death. Old Miss came out, too, and declared that I ought to be given a hundred lashes, but then came Miss Lou. She took me by the hand and said, "No, you must not whip the poor little fellow." And at this Old Master turned upon her. "Who the devil's going to whip him, I'd like to know? George Bates, don't you touch this boy again."

      And now Old Miss bristled up. "Guilford, you are always showing partiality for that little imp. You let him take the place. I won't stand it for one."

      "Madam," said Old Master, putting me behind him, "he may be what you call him, but justice should be shown even to an imp. Boys that have any spirit at all will fight and you can't help it, and by—" here he swore a terrible oath that made us all stare. "I say, if Bob can't defend himself, he must take the consequences. Boys, run off down yonder and play, now. Madam, do as you choose. George Bates, attend to your own affairs. My daughter, come with me."

      Miss Lou was hurt at the way Master had spoken to her husband, and as he took her hand to lead her into the house, she put her face upon his bosom and I heard her say, "Please don't talk to him that way, father."

      He kissed her. And then he turned to the doctor, who hung about abashed. "George, I beg your pardon, sir. I was a little hasty and I admit it. There, it's all right. I'll make you a present of that clay-bank horse you admire so much. Get him and take a ride, sir."

      "Oh, father," Miss Lou cried, "you are the best man in the world."

      "No, I'm an old pepper-box. Look out, you're tramping all over my feet. You boys go on down the creek and catch some fish or I'll whip both of you. Madam," he added, turning to Old Miss and handing her a roll of bank notes, "go to town and do your shopping."

CHAPTER II.

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      It seemed that on this very day my eyes were opened with a new intelligence, and not only my spiritual but my physical surroundings became clearer. I saw our great stone house as I had never seen it before, the wooded hill-sides, deep with grass, stretching far away; the white-washed cabins, quarter-circling the spacious yard, the broad garden and the weeping-willow trees whereunder Old Master's father and mother were buried; the village street which came abruptly to our big gate and there stopped in a fringe of clover. Through our place a bright creek ran, as many toned as a pack of hounds; and far to the right the turn-pike lay, white and glistening in the sun. Yes, my eyes were wider opened on this day, and a half-frightening glimmer of reason shot across my mind. I wondered why I should have been created a piece of property, while one, nearly of my own color and whom I could fling upon the ground, should possess me. This thought stung me, but there came a balm in the reflection that if I wore fetters at all, they were bright and lined with velvet. Of course, at this age I did not thus reason with myself, but I had the feeling, the substance of the thought, and the dressing of it must have come long afterward.

      Bob and I slept in the same room up-stairs, he in a canopied bed, I on a low lounge. Old Master and Old Miss slept in a large room just across the hall; and now it seems to me that many a time at midnight, a stray fancy, wandering throughout the world of space, looking for entertainment in a human mind, would come to me as I lay in that little bed—come to me and rob me of sleep—compel me to lie there and listen to Old Master's slippered feet, slowly pacing up and down the long hall. One night, and it must have followed the day when I had been given over as Bob's exclusive property, I awoke to hear the old man's distressful shambling up and down the hall. The night was so dark, all the household was so still save those restless feet, that a strange pity came upon me. I heard Old Miss call him, and I heard him reply, "Go to sleep and pay no attention to me." But he seemed so lonely out there walking alone, that I found the courage to open the door and peep out at him. A dim light hung from the ceiling, not far from my peeping place, and as he turned about he saw me.

      "What are you doing, Dan?" he asked, halting and turning to me.

      "Will you please let me come out and walk with you?" was my bold reply.

      "Walk with me? What could have put that into your head?"

      "'Cause I thought you must be tired of walking by yourself."

      "Well, run along back to bed."

      "General," Old Miss called, "who's out there with you?"

      "Do you see anybody?" he asked, looking hard toward her door.

      "No, but I hear you talking."

      "But isn't it possible for a man to talk to himself? Please go to sleep." Then he came back to me and said: "Go on to bed, Dan. And, see here," he added as I turned about, "don't get up any more when you hear me walking."

      I hesitated a moment, looking at him, and then I asked: "Master, did you kill a man?"

      He leaped toward me. "Who told you that? Come back here!" I had started to run away. "Come here to me. I'm not going to hurt you." He laid a tight hand upon my arm. "Why? Who said anything about my killing a man?"

      "I don't know, sir," I answered honestly. "I don't know who said it, but I thought you did. I believe I dreamed it. Did you kill a man?"

      I can see him now as he stood in the dim light, tall, frail, majestic, his old eyes bright, his white hair glistening. He cast a swift glance toward his bed-room door, and then leading me with him, stepped into my room. I heard