Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp

“Yes,” said Frank good-naturedly.

“Hi, hi, dat’s prime!” ejaculated 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.”

It is somewhat doubtful whether Pomp heard this last remark. He espied a pig walking by the side of the road, and was seized with a desire to run over it. Giving the reins a sudden twitch, he brought the carriage round so that it was very near upsetting in a gully.

Frank snatched the reins in time to prevent this catastrophe.

“What did you do that for, Pomp?” he said quickly.

“Wanted to scare de pig,” exclaimed Pomp, laughing. “Wanted to hear him squeal.”

“And so you nearly tipped us over.”

“Didn’t mean to do dat, Mass’ Frank. ‘Pears like I didn’t think.”

Mrs. Frost was too much alarmed by this narrow escape to consent to Pomp’s driving again, and for the moment felt as if she should like to usurp his mother’s privilege of spanking him. But the little imp looked so unconscious of having done anything wrong that her vexation soon passed away.

In half an hour Pomp was on his way back, laden with a basketful of provisions for his sick mother and himself.

CHAPTER XI. PUNISHING A BULLY

It was fortunate for Mrs. Frost that she was so soon called upon to think for others. It gave her less time to grieve over her husband’s absence, which was naturally a severe trial to her. As for Frank, though the harvest was gathered in, there were plenty of small jobs to occupy his attention. He divided with Jacob the care of the cows, and was up betimes in the morning to do his share of the milking. Then the pigs and chickens must be fed every day, and this Frank took entirely into his own charge. Wood, also, must be prepared for the daily wants of the house, and this labor he shared with Jacob.

In the afternoon, however, Frank usually had two or three hours at his own disposal, and this, in accordance with a previous determination, he resolved to devote to keeping up his studies. He did not expect to make the same progress that he would have done if he had been able to continue at school, but it was something to feel that he was not remaining stationary.

Frank resolved to say nothing to his classmates about his private studies. They would think he was falling far behind, and at some future time he would surprise them.

Still, there were times when he felt the need of a teacher. He would occasionally encounter difficulties which he found himself unable to surmount without assistance. At such times he thought of Mr Rathburn’s kind offer. But his old teacher lived nearly a mile distant, and he felt averse to troubling him, knowing that his duties in school were arduous.

Occasionally he met some of his schoolmates. As nearly all of them were friendly and well-disposed to him, this gave him pleasure, and brought back sometimes the wish that he was as free as they. But this wish was almost instantly checked by the thought that he had made a sacrifice for his country’s sake.

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.

“Now I’ve got you,” he said, white with passion, “and I’m going to teach you a lesson.”