‘So-so. A very ordinary-looking Englishman,--more fit to till his own acres, I should imagine, than to govern a colony. He has certainly done little as yet to quell the ill-feeling in San Diego, which seems to be increasing every day. But I shall not be able to keep my coolies on board much longer. There are six hundred of them, and I shall not be sorry when their backs are turned. I have had enough of their company on the way from Calcutta.’ ‘But they will make a bad exchange, I expect, from the hold of the _Trevelyan_ to the cotton and sugar plantations. I have heard poor father say you spoil your coolies, Captain Norris, and make them quite dissatisfied with their reception in the West Indies.’ ‘Oh, that’s a libel!’ cried the young man, smiling. ‘I may have tried to make their life aboard ship as little irksome as possible, but it has gone no further. But I am afraid they are mostly shipped under false pretences, and led to expect less work and more pay than they are ever likely to get in these islands. Their existence, at the best, is hardly worth living.’ ‘You are right there, and no one who has dwelt amongst them, as I have, could fail to sympathise with their troubles. They have much to bear, and little to compensate them for it. And with all their faults, they are a patient people, although very impulsive. That poor girl in the verandah did me a bad turn this morning, but she is ready to break her heart about it now.’ ‘Ah, Missy Liz, I’se _so_ sorry!’ cried Rosa, who had overheard the words that concerned herself. ‘But you can’t undo the mischief, you see, Rosa, so try and make up for it by being a faithful servant to your mistress now,’ said Hugh Norris, as he passed over the threshold on his way home. The yellow girl did not take correction from a stranger very well. She shrugged her shoulders, and pulled a face after the retreating form of Captain Norris, as she entered the bungalow with her infant charge. ‘What business of that Massa Norris to speak me?’ she inquired, pouting. ‘If he want to scold some one, he’d better go and find dat coolie girl Judy, what took the baby first. She’s a berry bad girl--rude and impident--with a tongue as long as an alligator’s.’ ‘Do you mean Mammy Lila’s granddaughter?’ inquired Lizzie. ‘When did you see her, Rosa?’ ‘Oh! she’s big enough to be seen, Missy Liz, and she’s just as cunning as they’re made. Judy has left Shanty Hill now, and come to live alongside of her own people, and dis morning Massa Courcelles has given her work on the plantation. And dat gal’s tongue--how it _do_ run!’ ‘About _me_, I suppose?’ said Liz bitterly. ‘Yes, Missy Liz--that’s just it--about you. Judy tells every one how you went up to Shanty Hill in the middle of the night wid dis poor little baby in your arms, and how you was so ill and weak you nearly tumbled down on de floor; and Mammy Lila took de baby, and you tell her, “_Silence and secrecy_,” which means, “Don’t tell nuffin to nobody on your life.”’