For from that day Dan was as the light of his grandfather's eyes. As the
boy strode manfully across the farm, his head thrown back, his hands
clasped behind him, the old man followed, in wondering pride, on his
footsteps. To see him stand amid the swinging cradles in the wheat field,
ordering the slaves and arguing with the overseer, was sufficient delight
unto the Major's day. "Nonsense, Molly," he would reply half angrily to his
wife's remonstrances. "The child can't be spoiled. I tell you he's too fine
a boy. I couldn't spoil him if I tried," and once out of his grandmother's
sight, Dan's arrogance was laughed at, and his recklessness was worshipped.
"Ah, you will make a man, you will make a man!" the Major had exclaimed
when he found him swearing at the overseer, "but you mustn't curse, you
really mustn't, you know. Why, your grandmother won't let me do it."
"But I told him to leave that haystack for me to slide on," complained the
boy, "and he said he wouldn't, and began to pull it down. I wish you'd send
him away, grandpa."
"Send Harris away!" whistled the Major. "Why, where could I get another,
Dan? He has been with me for twenty years."
"Hi, young Marster, who gwine min' de han's?" cried Big Abel, from behind.
"Do you like him, Big Abel?" asked the child, for the opinion of Big Abel
was the only one for which he ever showed respect. "It's because he's not
free, grandpa," he had once explained at the Major's jealous questioning.
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