Now, however, he appeared in a mood entirely different, and it was easy to see that he was much frightened.

"What's the matter, Pomp?" asked Frank, as he brought his horse to a standstill.

"Mammy done killed herself," he repeated, wringing his hands in terror.

A moan from the interior of the house seemed to make it clear that something had happened.

Mrs. Frost pushed the door open and entered.

Chloe had sunk down on the floor and was rocking back and forth, holding her right foot in both hands, with an expression of acute pain on her sable face. Beside her was a small pail, bottom upward.

Mrs. Frost was at no loss to conjecture the nature of the accident which had befallen her. The pail had contained hot water, and its accidental overturn had scalded poor Chloe.

"Are you much hurt, Chloe?" asked Mrs. Frost sympathizingly.

"Oh, missus, I's most dead," was the reply, accompanied by a groan.

"'Spect I sha'n't live till mornin'. Dunno what'll become of poor Pomp when I'se gone."

Little Pomp squeezed his knuckles into his eyes and responded with an unearthly howl.

"Don't be too much frightened, Chloe," said Mrs. Frost soothingly.

"You'll get over it sooner than you think. How did the pail happen to turn over?"

"Must have been de debbel, missus. I was kerryin' it just as keerful, when all at once it upsot."

This explanation, though not very luminous to her visitor, appeared to excite a fierce spirit of resentment against the pail in the mind of little Pomp.

He suddenly rushed forward impetuously and kicked the pail with all the force he could muster.

But, alas for poor Pomp! His feet were unprotected by shoes, and the sudden blow hurt him much more than the pail. The consequence was a howl of the most distressing nature.

Frank had started forward to rescue Pomp from the consequences of his precipitancy, but too late. He picked up the little fellow and, carrying him out, strove to soothe him.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Frost examined Chloe's injuries. They were not so great as she had antic.i.p.ated. She learned on inquiry that the water had not been scalding hot. There was little doubt that with proper care she would recover from her injuries in a week or ten days. But in the meantime it would not do to use the foot.

"What shall I do, missus?" groaned Chloe. "I ain't got nothin' baked up.

'Pears like me and Pomp must starve."

"Not so bad as that, Chloe," said Mrs. Frost, with a rea.s.suring smile.

"After we have you on the bed we will take Pomp home with us, and give him enough food to last you both a couple of days. At the end of that time, or sooner, if you get out, you can send him up again."

Chloe expressed her grat.i.tude warmly, and Mrs. Frost, calling in Frank's a.s.sistance, helped the poor woman to a comfortable position on the bed, which fortunately was in the corner of the same room. Had it been upstairs, the removal would have been attended with considerable difficulty as well as pain to Chloe.

Pomp, the acuteness of whose pain had subsided, looked on with wondering eyes while Frank and Mrs. Frost "toted" his mother onto the bed, as he expressed it.

Chloe accepted, with wondering grat.i.tude, the personal attentions of Mrs. Frost, who bound up the injured foot with a softness of touch which brought no pain to the sufferer.

"You ain't too proud, missus, to tend to a poor black woman," she said.

"Down Souf dey used to tell us dat everybody looked down on de poor n.i.g.g.e.r and lef' 'em to starve an' die if dey grow sick."

"They told you a great many things that were not true, Chloe," said Mrs.

Frost quietly. "The color of the skin ought to make no difference where we have it in our power to render kind offices."

"Do you believe n.i.g.g.e.rs go to de same heaven wid w'ite folks, missus?"

asked Chloe, after a pause.

"Why should they not? They were made by the same G.o.d."

"I dunno, missus," said Chloe. "I hopes you is right."

"Do you think you can spare Pomp a little while to go home with us?"

"Yes, missus. Here you, Pomp," she called, "you go home wid dis good lady, and she'll gib you something for your poor sick mudder. Do you hear?"

"I'se goin' to ride?" said Pomp inquiringly.

"Yes," said Frank good-naturedly.

"Hi, hi, dat's prime!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Pomp, turning a somersault in his joy.

"Scramble in, then, and we'll start."

Pomp needed no second invitation. He jumped into the carriage, and was more leisurely followed by Frank and his mother.

It was probably the first time that Pomp had ever been in a covered carriage, and consequently the novelty of his situation put him in high spirits.

He was anxious to drive, and Frank, to gratify him, placed the reins in his hands. His eyes sparkling with delight, and his expanded mouth showing a full set of ivories, Pomp shook the reins in glee, shouting out, "Hi, go along there, you ol' debble!"

"Pomp, you mustn't use that word," said Mrs. Frost reprovingly.

"What word, missus?" demanded Pomp innocently.

"The last word you used," she answered.

"Don't 'member what word you mean, missus," said Pomp. "Hi, you debble!"

"That's the word?"

"Not say 'debble'?" said Pomp wonderingly. "Why not, missus?"

"It isn't a good word."

"Mammy says 'debble.' She calls me little debble when I run away, and don't tote in de wood."

"I shall tell her not to use it. It isn't a good word for anybody to use."

"Hope you'll tell her so, missus," said Pomp, grinning and showing his teeth. "Wheneber she calls me little debble she pulls off her shoe and hits me. Hurts like de debble. Mebbe she won't hit me if you tell her not to say 'debble.'"

Mrs. Frost could hardly forbear laughing. She managed, however, to preserve a serious countenance while she said, "You must take care to behave well, and then she won't have to punish you."