The Man in Gray | Page 6

indiscriminately. Robbie Lee was playing rooster fight with Sid, his boon companion. The little black boy born nearest his birthday was dedicated to be his friend, companion and body servant for life.
Phil paused to see the rooster fight.
The boys folded their arms and flew at each other sideways, using their elbows as a rooster uses his spurs.
Robbie was pressing Sid against the fence of the rose garden. Sid's return blows lacked strength.
Robbie stamped his foot angrily.
"Come on now--no foolin'--fight! There's no fun in a fight, if you don't fight!"
Sid bucked up and flew at his enemy.
Robbie saw the two older boys watching and gave a star performance. As Sid lunged at him with uplifted arms, and drew back to strike a stunning blow, Robbie suddenly stooped, hurled his elbow under Sid's arm, lifted him clear of the ground and he fell sprawling.
Robbie stood in triumph over the prostrate figure.
Phil laughed.
"You got him that time, Robbie!"
Robbie squared himself, raised his spurs and waited for Sid to rise.
Sid was in no hurry. He had enough. He hadn't cried. But he was close to it.
"Ye needn't put up dem spurs at me no mo'."
"Come on again!" Robbie challenged.
"Na, sah. I'se done dead. Ye stick dat spur clean froo me. Hit mighty nigh come out on de odder side!"
"Got enough?"
The game was suddenly ended by a barefoot white boy approaching Robbie. Johnny Doyle carried a dozen teal ducks, six in each hand. They were so heavy for his hands that their heads dragged the ground.
Robbie rushed to meet his friend.
"Oh, John, where'd you get the ducks?"
"Me and daddy killed 'em this mornin' at sun-up on the river."
"Why, the duck season isn't on yet, is it?" Custis asked the boy.
"No, sir, but daddy saw a big raft of teal swingin' into the bend of the river yesterday and we got up before daylight and got a mess."
"You brought 'em to me, John?" Robbie asked eagerly.
"Jes the same, Robbie. Dad sent 'em to Colonel Lee."
"That's fine of your daddy, John," Custis said, placing his hand on the little bare sunburnt head.
"Yessir, my daddy says Colonel Lee's the greatest man in this county and he's mighty proud to be his neighbor."
"Tell him my father will thank him personally before we leave and say for all that he has given us a treat."
Custis handed the ducks to Sid.
"Take them to the kitchen and tell Aunt Hannah to have them for dinner, sure."
Sid started for the kitchen and Robbie called after him:
"Hurry back, Sid--"
"Yassah--right away, sah!"
Robbie seized John's hand.
"You'll stay all day?"
"I can't."
"We're goin' fishin'--"
"Honest?"
"Sure. Uncle Ben's sick. But after dinner he's promised to take us. He's not too sick to fish."
"I can't stay," the barefoot boy sighed.
"Come on. There's three bird's nests in the orchard. The second layin'. It ain't no harm to break up the second nest. Birds've no business layin' twice in one season. We ought to break 'em up."
"I'm afraid I can't."
His tone grew weaker and Robbie pressed him.
"Come on. We'll get the bird's eggs and chase the calves and colts till the dinner bell rings, ride the horses home from the fields, and go fishin' after dinner and stay till dark."
"No--"
"Come on!"
John glanced up the road toward the big gate beyond which his mother was waiting his return. The temptation was more than his boy's soul could resist. He shook his head--paused--and grinned.
"Come on, Sid, John's goin' with us," Robbie called to his young henchman as he approached.
"All right," John consented, finally throwing every scruple to the winds. "Ma'll whip me shore, but, by granny, it'll be worth it!"
The aristocrat slipped his arm around his chum and led him to the orchard in triumph.
Custis laughed.
"He'd rather play with that little, poor white rascal than any boy in the country."
"Don't blame him," Phil replied. "He may be dirty and ragged but he's a real boy after a real boy's heart. And the handsomest little beggar I ever saw--who is he?"
"The boy of a poor white family, the Doyles. They live just outside our gate on a ten-acre farm. His mother's trying to make him go to school. His father laughs and lets him go hunting and fishing."
They were strolling past the first neat row of houses in the servants' quarters. Phil thought of them as the slave quarters. Yet he had not heard the word slave spoken since his arrival. These black people were "servants" and some of them were the friends and confidants of their master and his household. Phil paused in front of a cottage. The yard flamed with autumn flowers. Through the open door and windows came the hum of spinning wheels and the low, sweet singing of the dark spinners, spinning wool for the winter clothing of the estate. From the next door came the click and crash of the looms