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

41 страница из 57

“In regard to my dead brother’s child, I want it understood that so long as he remains under my roof he is never again to be punished for any fault, real or fancied; and if anybody has any complaints to make against him, they must make them to me. As for Uncle Phin, if it is true that he beat one of my children, he must leave this place, and look for a home elsewhere, which I shall tell him to-morrow.”

Every word of this was heard by the old negro, who was sitting on a bench in the little vine-colored porch, close under an open window, of the room in which Mr. Dustin stood. The old man, who had not known of the cruel punishment inflicted upon his “lil Marse,” was waiting patiently for Arthur to come out and bring him his supper, as the boy had done every evening since they came there to live.

Now he said to himself: “Dat’s all right, Marse Dustin. I did beat yo boy, an I do it agin if heem tetch my honey lamb; but yo sha’n’t nebber hab de chance to tun ole Phin Dale from yo house. No, sah; he done go of his own sef, befo ebber he ’lowin you to do sich a ting. An when he go he isn’t gwine erlone. No, sah.”