Uncle Munday, sarcastically.

“Laughum Jackamarass,” said the black; and he uttered the absurd cry again.

“Why, I heard that this morning!” cried Rifle. “It was you that made the row?”

“Laughum Jackamarass,” said the black importantly. “Sung in um bush. You gib Shanter tickpence. You gib damper?”

“What does he mean?” said Uncle Jack. “Hang him, he gave us a damper.”

“Hey? Damper?” cried the black, and he smacked his lips and began to rub the lower part of his chest in a satisfied way.

“He wants a piece of bread,” said the captain.—“Here, aunt, cut him a lump and let’s get rid of him. There is no cause for alarm. I suppose he followed us to beg, but I don’t want any of his tribe.”

“Oh, my dear Edward, no,” cried Aunt Georgie. “I don’t want to see any more of the dreadful black creatures.—Here, chimney-sweep, come here.”

As she spoke, she opened the lid of a basket, and drew from its sheath a broad-bladed kitchen knife hung to a thin leather belt, which bore a clasped bag on the other side.

“Hi crikey!” shouted the black in alarm, his repertoire of English words being apparently stored with choice selections taught him by the settlers. “Big white Mary going killancookaneatum.”

“What does the creature mean?” said Aunt Georgie, who had not caught the black’s last compound word.

“No, no,” said Norman, laughing. “She’s going to cut you some damper, Shanter.”

“Ho! mind a knife—mind a knife,” said the black; and he approached warily.

“He thought you were going to kill and cook him, aunt,” said the boy, who was in high glee at the lady’s disgust.

“I thought as much,” cried Aunt Georgie; “then the wretch is a cannibal, or he would never have had such nasty ideas.—Ob, Edward, what were you thinking about to bring us into such a country!”

“Bio white Mary gib damper?” asked the black insinuatingly.

“Not a bit,” said Aunt Georgie, making a menacing chop with the knife, which made the black leap back into a picturesque attitude, with his rough spear poised as if he were about to hurl it.

“Quick, Edward!—John!” cried Aunt Georgie, sheltering her face with her arms. “Shoot the wretch; he’s going to spear me.”

“Nonsense! Cut him some bread and let him go. You threatened him first with the knife.”

The whole party were roaring with laughter now at the puzzled faces of Aunt Georgina and the black, who now lowered his spear.

“Big white Mary want to kill Shanter?” he said to Rifle.

“No; what nonsense!” cried Aunt Georgie indignantly; “but I will not cut him a bit if he dares to call me big white Mary. Such impudence!”

“My dear aunt!” said the captain, wiping his eyes, “you are too absurd.”

“And you laughing too?” she cried indignantly. “I came out into this heathen land out of pure affection for you all, thinking I might be useful, and help to protect the girls, and you let that wretch insult and threaten me. Big white Mary, indeed! I believe you’d be happy if you saw him thrust that horrid, great skewer through me, and I lay weltering in my gore.”

“Stuff, auntie!” cried Uncle Jack.

“Why, he threatened me.”

“Big white Mary got a lot o’ hot damper. Gib Shanter bit.”

“There he goes again!” cried the old lady.

“He doesn’t mean any harm. The blacks call all the women who come white Marys.”

“And their wives too?”

“Oh no; they call them their gins. Come, cut him a big piece of bread, and I’ll start him off. I want for us to get to rest.”

“Am I to cut it in slices and butter it?”

“No, no. Cut him one great lump.”

Aunt Georgie sighed, opened a white napkin, took out a large loaf, and cut off about a third, which she impaled on the point of the knife, and held out at arm’s length, while another roar of laughter rose at the scene which ensued.

For the black looked at the bread, then at Aunt Georgie, then at the bread again suspiciously. There was the gleaming point of that knife hidden within the soft crumb; and as his mental capacity was nearly as dark as his skin, and his faith in the whites, unfortunately—from the class he had encountered and from whom he had received more than one piece of cruel ill-usage—far from perfect, he saw in imagination that sharp point suddenly thrust right through and into his black flesh as soon as he tried to take the piece of loaf.

The boys literally shrieked as the black stretched out a hand, made a feint to take it, and snatched it back again.

“Take it, you stupid!” cried Aunt Georgie, with a menacing gesture.

“Hetty—Ida—look!” whispered Tim, as the black advanced a hand again, but more cautiously.

“Mind!” shouted Rifle; and the black bounded back, turned to look at the boy, and then showed his white teeth.

“Are you going to take this bread?” cried Aunt Georgie, authoritatively.

“No tick a knifum in Shanter?” said the black in reply.

“Nonsense! No.”

“Shanter all soff in frontum.”

“Take the bread.”

Every one was laughing and watching the little scone with intense enjoyment as, full of doubt and suspicion, the black advanced his hand again very cautiously, and nearly touched the bread, when Aunt Georgie uttered a contemptuous “pish!” whose effect was to make the man bound back a couple of yards, to the lady’s great disgust.

“I’ve a great mind to throw it at his stupid, cowardly head,” she cried angrily.

“Don’t do that,” said the captain, wiping his eyes. “Poor fellow! he has been tricked before. A burned child fears the fire.—Hi! Ashantee, take the bread,” said the captain, and he wiped his eyes again.

“Make um all cry,” said the black, apostrophising Aunt Georgie; then, turning to the captain, “Big white Mary won’t tick knifum in poor Shanter?”

“No, no, she will not.—Here, auntie, give him the bread with your hand.”

“I won’t,” said Aunt Georgie, emphatically. “I will not encourage his nasty, suspicious thoughts. He must be taught better. As if I, an English lady, would do such a thing as behave like a murderous bravo of Venice.—Come here, sir, directly, and take that bread off the point of the knife,” and she accompanied her words with an unmistakable piece of pantomime, holding the bread out, and pointing with one finger.

“Don’t, pray, don’t stop the fun, uncle,” whispered Tim.

“No; let ’em alone,” growled Uncle Jack, whose face was puckered up into a broad laugh.

“Do you hear me, sir?”

“No tick a knifum in?”

“No; of course not. No—No.”

“All right,” said the black; and he stretched out his hand again, and with his eyes fixed upon Aunt Georgie, he slowly approached till he nearly touched the bread.

“That’s right; take it,” said the old lady, giving it a sharp push forward at the same moment, and the black leaped back once more with a look of disgust upon his face which gave way to another grin.

“What shame!” he cried in a tone of remonstrance. “’Tick knife in, make um bleed. Damper no good no more.”

“Well, of all the horrible creatures!” cried Aunt Georgie, who stood there full in the firelight in happy unconsciousness of the fact that the scene was double, for the shadows of the two performers were thrown grotesquely but distinctly upon the wall of verdure by their side.

Just then a happy thought struck the black, who advanced again nearly within reach of the bread, planted his spear behind him as a support, holding it with both hands, and then, grinning mightily at his own cunning in keeping his body leaning back out of reach, he lifted one leg, and with