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Updated: May 7, 2025
"Come, cheer up." "Can't any more, my lad," said Morgan. "No one can't say, look you, that I haven't cheered up through thick and thin. But, look here, Master George, speaking fair now, what is the good of Injuns?" "Injum no good," said Pomp, sharply. "Right, boy; no good at all. Phew!" he whistled; "how them logs do burn!" "Ah! No duck, no fis', no turkey roace on 'tick!" said Pomp, regretfully.
"Now, Mass' George," said Pomp, as we stood at the foot of the tree, and stamped about to get rid of the stiffness, and cold brought on by our cramped position on the branch, "de fuss ting am breckfuss. I so dreffle hungry." "But we ate everything last night," I said. "Neb mind; plenty duck in de ribber. You go shoot four lil duck, dat two piece, while Pomp make fire to roace um."
"What are you doing with that shovel?" "Dat to 'crape de fire up. You no see? Pomp bake cake for de capen." "What?" "Oh yes. Plenty cake in de hot ash. Hot bread for um. 'Top see if um done." He looked up at me and laughed as merrily as if there was no danger near. "Mass' George see more Injum?" "No," I said. "They are in the forest somewhere." "Pomp like roace all de whole lot.
"And what are we to have to eat by and by, when we get hungry?" "Mass' George shoot ducks; Pomp make fire an' roace um." "No, no, no," I cried. "Here, pass me the wallet, and I'll give you a rest." "And Pomp carry de gun," he cried, eagerly. "No, sir. If you can carry the gun, you can carry the wallet. Here, give me hold."
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