A few days after the incident narrated in the last chapter, Frank was out in the woods not far from Chloe’s cottage, collecting brushwood, to be afterward carried home, when his attention was called to an altercation, one of the parties in which he readily recognized as little Pomp.  To explain how it came about, we shall have to go back a little.

Pomp was returning from Mrs. Frost’s, swinging a tin kettle containing provisions for his mother and himself, when all at once he met John Haynes, who was coming from the opposite direction.

Now, John was something of a bully, and liked to exercise authority over the boys who were small enough to render the attempt a safe one.  On the present occasion he felt in a hectoring mood.

“I’ll have some fun out of the little nigger,” he said to himself, as he espied Pomp.

Pomp approached, swinging his pail as before, and whistling a plantation melody.

“What have you got there, Pomp?” asked John.

“I’se got a pail,” said Pomp independently.  “Don’t yer know a pail when you see him?”

“I know an impudent little nigger when I see him,” retorted John, not overpleased with the answer.  “Come here directly, and let me see what you’ve got in your pail.”

“I ain’t got noffin for you,” said Pomp defiantly.

“We’ll see about that,” said John.  “Now, do you mean to come here or not?  I’m going to count three, and I’ll give you that time to decide.  One—­two—­three!”

Pomp apparently had no intention of complying with John’s request.  He had halted about three rods from him, and stood swinging his pail, meanwhile watching John warily.

“I see you want me to come after you,” said John angrily.

He ran toward Pomp, but the little contraband dodged him adroitly, and got on the other side of a tree.

Opposition only stimulated John to new efforts.  He had become excited in the pursuit, and had made up his mind to capture Pomp, who dodged in and out among the trees with such quickness and dexterity that John was foiled for a considerable time.  The ardor of his pursuit and its unexpected difficulty excited his anger.  He lost sight of the fact that Pomp was under no obligation to comply with his demand.  But this is generally the way with tyrants, who are seldom careful to keep within the bounds of justice and reason.

“Just let me catch you, you little rascal, and I will give you the worst licking you ever had,” John exclaimed, with passion.

“Wait till you catch me,” returned Pomp, slipping, eel-like, from his grasp.

But Pomp, in dodging, had now come to an open space, where he was at a disadvantage.  John was close upon him, when suddenly he stood stock-still, bending his back so as to obtain a firm footing.  The consequence was that his too ardent pursuer tumbled over him, and stretched his length upon the ground.

Unfortunately for Pomp, John grasped his leg in falling, and held it by so firm a grip that he was unable to get free.  In the moment of his downfall John attained his object.