Part 52 (2/2)
”Never was yet, Nat; and if I wasn't lying here too weak and worn-out to move, I'd get up and punch your ugly head, Nat, till you could see better, and make you feel sorry for saying such wicked things about my poor old mother.”
”She's my mother as much as she is yours.”
”Yes, poor old soul; and sick and sorry she is to have such a son as you.”
”Nay, it's sick and sorry she is to have a son as deserts his king, and goes robbing and murdering all over the country with a pack of ruffians sc.r.a.ped from everywhere.”
”No, I didn't; I never desarted no king. I wasn't the king's servant, lad.”
”Yes, you was.”
”Not I, Natty. I was master's servant, and he says, 'Will you come and fight for me, Samson,' he says, 'against oppression?' ''Course I will, master,' I says. 'And handle a sword instead of a spade,' he says.
'You give me hold of one, master,' I says, 'and I'll show you.' That's how it was, Natty.”
”Your master's a bad man, and him and you will be hung or chopped as sure as you're alive.”
”You always was a muddlehead, Natty. It's your master as is the bad man; Colonel Forrester's a thorough gentleman, and we always had better fruit and garden stuff at the Manor than you had at the Hall, and that's what makes you so wild against me.”
”Yah! Why, you never grew anything but weeds at the Manor. Your garden was just as if pigs had got into it.”
”Did you think so, Natty?” said Samson, good-temperedly.
”Yes.”
”That shows what I say 's right. You always was such a muddlehead that you couldn't tell good from bad, and you don't know any better now.
Poor old Nat, I don't bear you any malice or hatred in my heart. I'm sorry for you.”
Nat ground his teeth gently, for his brother's easy-going way angered him.
”Sorry for me?” he said. ”Why, you're a miserable rebel, that's what you are.”
”Not I, Natty; not a bit miserable. If you was not here, I should lie back and sing.”
”Shall you sing when they take you out and hang you?”
”Not going to hang me, Natty; not ugly enough. Now, if it had been you--I say, Nat, I should like to have you hung up in the Manor garden to keep away the birds.”
”What?”
”To scare 'em. You do look such an old Guy Fawkes. I say, who cut your hair?”
Nat's hand went involuntarily to his freshly shorn head, and a dull red glow came into his cheeks.
”You wait till I get better, and I'll crop it for you neatly. Why, you don't look one thing nor the other now. Cavaliers wouldn't own you, and I should be ashamed to set aside you in our ranks.”
”Go on,” said Nat, grinning viciously. ”That's your nastiness; but it don't tease me. I'm sorry for you, Samson. What a pa.s.s for a respectable Dee to come to, only you never was respectable. But there's an end to all things. Made your will?”
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