Читать книгу Prince Dusty. A Story of the Oil Regions онлайн

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“Soh, Honey, soh, don’t you cry now,” murmured the old man, in soothing tones. “’Member dat while you is a Dustin by name, you’s a Dale by breedin, an comes of Dale stock. You’s mos a man now, a young gen’lm’n, an it won’t nebber do fer sich as you is to cry like a lilly gal. Soh, now, Honey, soh.”

Neither of them heard the quick, determined step that approached them from behind, and so occupied was poor, troubled Uncle Phin in soothing and comforting his charge, that it was an easy matter for Mrs. Dustin to snatch the trembling boy from his arms. Then she marched rapidly away, without a word; but dragging her victim relentlessly after her.

Uncle Phin half started to his feet when he first realized what was happening; but sank back again with a groan, and a murmured “De good Lawd hab mussy on His Lamb.”

Then he bowed his frosted head on his knees and the hot tears trickled slowly between his black fingers.

While he thus sat helpless and despairing, poor Arthur was taken to the house and there whipped, until the apple-tree switch broke, and his Aunt Nancy’s strength was exhausted. Then, telling the boy that this was a lesson for him to remember as long as he lived, she bade him go to the woodshed, which was his sleeping-room, and stay there until she should release him.