, the
child's father, who found his young master so engaged, and to the
indignation of Madame Esmond, who ordered the young negro off to the
proper officer for a whipping. In vain George implored and entreated,
burst into passionate tears and besought a remission of the sentence. His
mother was inflexible regarding the young rebel's punishment, and the
little negro went off beseeching his young master not to cry.

A fierce quarrel between mother and son ensued out of this event. Her son
would not be pacified. He said the punishment was a shame--a shame; that
he was the master of the boy, and no one--no, not his mother--had a right
to touch him; that she might order _him_ to be corrected, and that he
would suffer the punishment, as he and Harry often had, but no one should
lay a hand on his boy. Trembling with passionate rebellion against what
he conceived the injustice of the procedure, he vowed that on the day he
came of age he would set young Gumbo free; went to visit the child in the
slaves' quarters, and gave him one of his own toys.

The black martyr was an impudent, lazy, saucy little personage, who would
be none the worse for a whipping, as the Colonel, who was then living, no
doubt thought; for he acquiesced in the child's punishment when Madame
Esmond insisted upon it, and only laughed in his good-natured way when
his indignant grandson called out:

"You let mamma rule you in everything, grandpapa."

"Why so I do," says grandpapa. "Rachel, my love, the way in which I am
petticoat-ridden is so evident that even this baby has found it out."

"Then why don't you stand up like a man?" says little Harry, who always
was ready to abet his brother.

Grandpapa looked queerly.

"Because I like sitting down best, my dear," he said. "I am an old
gentleman, and standing fatigues me."

On account of a certain apish drollery and humour which exhibited itself
in the lad, and a liking for some of the old man's pursuits, the first of
the twins was the grandfather's favourite and companion, and would laugh
and talk out all his infantine heart to the old gentleman, to whom the
younger had seldom a word to say. George was a demure, studious boy, and
his senses seemed to brighten up in the library, where his brother was so
gloomy. He knew the books before he could well-nigh carry them, and read
in them long before he could understand them. Harry, on the other hand,
was all alive in the stables or in the wood, eager for all p