Part 42 (1/2)
”He isn't hurt much,” cried Dexter indignantly.
”How dare you, sir!” roared Sir James.
”He's killed; he's killed!” cried Lady Danby, clasping her hands, and rocking herself to and fro as she gazed at the shrieking boy, who only wanted a cold sponge and a towel to set him right.
”Ow!” yelled Edgar, as he appreciated the sympathy of his mother, but believed the very worst of his unfortunate condition. The lady now bent over him, said that he was killed, and of course she must have known.
Edgar had never read _Uncle Remus_. All this was before the period when that book appeared; but his conduct might very well be taken as a type of that of the celebrated Brer Fox when Brer Rabbit was in doubt as to whether he was really dead or only practising a ruse, and proceeded to test his truth by saying, as he saw him stretched out--
”Brer Fox look like he dead, but he don't do like he dead. Dead fokes hists up de behime leg, en hollers _wahoo_!”
Edgar, according to Brer Rabbit's ideas, was very dead indeed, for he kept on ”histing up de behime leg, en hollering _wahoo_!” with the full power of his lungs.
By this time the alarm had spread, and there was the sound of steps upon a gravel walk, which resulted in the appearance of the supercilious footman.
”Carry Master Edgar up to the house,” said Sir James, in his severest magisterial tones.
”Carefully--very carefully,” wailed her ladys.h.i.+p piteously; and she looked and spoke as if she feared that as soon as the boy was touched he would tumble all to pieces.
Dexter looked on, with his eyes turning here and there, like those of some captured wild animal which fears danger; and as he looked he caught sight of the footman gazing at him with a peculiar grin upon his countenance, which seemed to be quite friendly, and indicated that the man rather enjoyed the plight in which his young master was plunged.
Master Edgar howled again as he was raised, and directly after began to indulge in what the plantation negroes used to call ”playing 'possum”-- that is to say, he suddenly became limp and inert, closing his eyes, and letting his head roll about, as if there were no more bone left in his body, while his mother wrung her hands, and tried then to hold the head steady, as the footman prepared to move toward the house.
”Now, sir,” said Sir James sternly, ”come here. We will have a few words about this in my library.”
Accustomed for years past to obey, Dexter took a step forward to accompany the stern-looking man before him to the house; but such a panorama of troublous scenes rose before his mind's eye directly, that he stopped short, gave one hasty glance round, and then, as Sir James stretched forth his hand, he made one bound which landed him in a clump of hollyhocks and dahlias; another which took him on to the gra.s.s; and then, with a rush, he dashed into a clump of rhododendrons, went through them, and ran as hard as he could go toward the house.
For a few moments Sir James was too much astounded to speak. This was something new. He was accustomed to order, and to be obeyed.
He had ordered Dexter to come to him, and for answer the boy had dashed away.
As soon as Sir James could recover his breath, taken away in his astonishment, he began to shout--
”Stop, sir! Do you hear? How dare you?”
If a hundred Sir Jameses had been shouting it would not have stayed Dexter, for he had only one idea in his head just then, and that was to get away.
”Put down Master Edgar, and go and fetch that boy back.”
”Carefully! Oh, pray, put him down carefully,” cried Lady Danby pa.s.sionately.
Just then Master Edgar uttered a fresh cry, and his mother wailed loudly.
”No, never mind,” cried Sir James, ”carry him up to the house; I will fetch that young rascal.”
He strode off angrily, evidently believing in his own mind that he really was going to fetch Dexter back; but by that time the boy had reached the house, ran round by the side, dashed down the main street, and was soon after approaching the bridge over the river, beyond which lay the Union and the schools.
CHAPTER TWENTY.