No less than three times have I been obliged to make
these salutary applications to Nick's back, with my own hands; though
it is, now, more than ten years since a blow has passed between us."
"Does a savage ever forgive a blow?" asked the chaplain, with a grave
air, and a look of surprise.
"I fancy a _savage_ is quite as apt to forgive it, as a
_civilized_ man, Woods. To you, who have served so long in His
Majesty's army, a blow, in the way of punishment, can be no great
novelty."
"Certainly not, as respects the soldiers; but I did not know Indians
were ever flogged."
"That is because you never happened to be present at the ceremony--but,
this is Nick, sure enough; and by his trot I begin to think the fellow
has some message, or news."
"How old is the man, captain? Does an Indian never break down?"
"Nick must be fairly fifty, now. I have known him more than half that
period, and he was an experienced, and, to own the truth, a brave and
skilful warrior, when we first met. I rate him fifty, every day of it."
By this time the new-comer was so near, that the conversation ceased,
all standing gazing at him, as he drew near, and Maud gathering up her
hair, with maiden bashfulness, though certainly Nick was no stranger.
As for Little Smash, she waddled off to proclaim the news to the
younger Pliny, Mari, and Great Smash, all of whom were still in the
kitchen of the Hut, flourishing, sleek and glistening.
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