He opened the door and bawled out, pointing to
us, before he had it fairly open:
"O Marse WILLyum! O Miss LUCY! Dey've
brung him home! DAR he!"
A little, bright, black-eyed old lady like a wren
comes running out of the house, and chirps:
"O Bud--O my honey boy! Is he dead?"
"I reckon not, Miss Lucy," says Bud raising
himself up on the mattress as she runs up to the
wagon, and trying to act like everything was all
a joke. She was jest high enough to kiss him over
the edge of the wagon box. A worried-looking old
gentleman come out the door, seen Bud and his
mother kissing each other, and then says to the old
nigger man:
"George, yo' old fool, what do yo' mean by
shouting out like that?"
"Marse Willyum--" begins George, explaining.
"Shut up," says the old gentleman, very quiet.
"Take the bay mare and go for Doctor Po'ter."
Then he comes to the wagon and says:
"So they got yo', Bud? Yo' WOULD go night-
riding like a rowdy and a thug! Are yo' much
hurt?"
He said it easy and gentle, more than mad.
But Bud, he flushed up, pale as he was, and didn't
answer his dad direct. He turned to his mother
and said:
"Miss Lucy, dear, it would 'a' done yo' heart
good to see the way them trust warehouses blazed
up!"
And the old lady, smiling and crying both to
oncet, says, "God bless her brave boy.
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