The men did as ordered, raising their load from the ground, a foot or two at a time.  In this manner the burthen approached, yard after yard, until it was evidently drawing near the window.

“It’s the captain hoisting up the big baste of a hog, for provisioning the hoose, ag’in a saige,” whispered Mike to the negroes, who grinned as they tugged; “and when the cr’atur squails, see to it, that ye do not squail yerselves.”

At that moment the head and shoulders of a man appeared at the window, Mike let go the rope, seized a chair, and was about to knock the intruder on the head; but the captain arrested the blow.

“It’s one of the vagabond Injins that has undermined the hog, and coome up in its stead,” roared Mike.”

“It’s my son”—­answered the captain, mildly—­“see that you are silent, and secret.”

Chapter XIII.

  And glory long has made the sages smile,
  Tis something, nothing, words, illusion, wind—­
  Depending more upon the historian’s style
  Than on the name a person leaves behind. 
  Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to Hoyle
  The present century was growing blind
  To the great Marlborough’s skill in giving knocks,
  Until his late Life by Archdeacon Coxe.

  Byron.

Major Willoughby’s feet were scarcely on the library floor, when he was clasped in his mother’s arms.  From these he soon passed into Beulah’s; nor did his father hesitate about giving him an embrace nearly as warm.  As for Maud, she stood by, weeping in sympathy and in silence.

“And you, too, old man,” said Robert Willoughby, dashing the tears from his eyes, and turning to the elder black, holding out a hand—­“this is not the first time, by many, old Pliny, that you have had me between heaven and earth.  Your son was my old play-fellow, and we must shake hands also.  As for O’Hearn, steel is not truer, and we are friends for life.”

The negroes were delighted to see their young master, for, in that day, the slaves exulted in the honour, appearance, importance and dignity of their owners, far more than their liberated descendants do now in their own.  The major had been their friend when a boy; and he was, at present, their pride and glory.  In their view of the matter, the English army did not contain his equal in looks, courage, military skill, or experience; and it was treason per se to fight against a cause that he upheld.  The captain had laughingly related to his wife a conversation to this effect he had not long before overheard between the two Plinys.

“Well, Miss Beuly do a pretty well”—­observed the elder, “but, den he all’e better, if he no get ’Merican ’mission.  What you call raal colonel, eh?  Have ’e paper from ’e king like Masser Bob, and wear a rigimental like a head of a turkey cock, so!  Dat bein’ an up and down officer.”

“P’rhaps Miss Beuly bring a colonel round, and take off a blue coat, and put on a scarlet,” answered the younger.