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Updated: May 3, 2025
Poopy, whose wits were sharpened by love, at once took advantage of her opportunity. She crept on all fours towards the rock on which Alice lay, in such a manner that it came between her person and the savage. "Missy Alice! O, Missy Alice! quick! look up! it's me Poopy," said the girl, raising her head cautiously above the edge of the rock.
The plan was eminently successful. By a series of jerks on the part of Corrie, and proppings on the part of Poopy, the former was enabled to attain a kneeling position, not, however, without a few failures, in one of which he fell forward on his face, and left a deep impression of his fat little nose in the mud.
Montague had come on shore to ascertain from Mr. Mason what likelihood there was of an early attack by the natives. "Where's Alice?" whispered the boy to Poopy, as the girl entered the church, and seated herself beside a little midshipman, who looked at her with a mingled expression of disgust and contempt, and edged away. "Got a little headache, hee! hee!"
"Yes, no," exclaimed Mr Mason. "Come, Poopy, don't be stupid, explain yourself." "Hee! hee! hee! yes, ho! ho!" laughed Poopy, as if the idea of explaining herself was about the richest joke she had listened to since she was born. "Hee! hee! me no can 'splain, but you com here and see."
"Oh! is it?" replied Alice, with much interest. "Hee! hee!" observed Poopy. "Stand by to let go the anchor!" shouted Montague. Instantly bustle and noise prevailed everywhere. The crew of the lost frigate had started up on hearing the order, but having no stations to run to, they expended the energy that had been awakened, in shuffling about and opening an animated conversation in undertones.
Alice started up on one elbow, and was about to utter a scream of delight and surprise, when her sable friend laid her black paw suddenly on the child's pretty mouth and effectually shut it up. "Hush! Alice; no cry. Savage hear and come back kill Poopy bery much quick. Listen. Me all alone. You bery clibber. Dry up eyes, no cry any more. Look happy. God will save you.
"You'll never manage it, Poopy," he remarked in a sad tone of voice, on beholding the poor girl balanced on the small of her back, preparatory to making a spring that might have reminded one of the leaps of a trout when thrown from its native element upon the bank of a river.
"No, me won't," cried Poopy, with great passion, while tears sprang from her large eyes, and coursed over her sable cheeks. "Me will bu'st dem ropes." "More likely to do that to yourself if you go on like that," returned Corrie. The only bother about it is that these rascally savages have dropped me beside a pool of half soft mud that I can't help sticking my head into if I try to move."
The first object that greeted the pastor's eyes on awaking in the morning was a black visage, and a pair of glittering eyes gazing at him through the half open door with an expression of the utmost astonishment. He leaped up with lightning, speed and darted towards the intruder, but checked himself suddenly and smiled, as poor Poopy uttered a scream, and, falling on her knees, implored for mercy.
"Don't laugh in church, you monster," said Corrie, with a frown. "I'se not larfin," retorted Poopy, with an injured look. He passed steadily up the center of the church, and sat down beside the Widow Stuart, whose face expressed anxiety and surprise the moment she observed who was seated there.
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