“I’ll have that doctor hanged.” “Marse Tom, she don’t _want_ him hanged. She—” “Well, then, I’ll have him boiled in oil.” “But she don’t _want_ him boiled. I—” “Oh, very well, very well, I only want to please her; I’ll have him skinned.” “Why, _she_ don’t want him skinned; it would break her heart. Now—” “Woman, this is perfectly unreasonable. What in the nation _does_ she want?” “Marse Tom, if you would only be a little patient, and not fly off the handle at the least little thing. Why, she only wants you to speak to him.” “Speak to him! Well, upon my word! All this unseemly rage and row about such a—a— Dorcas, I never saw you carry on like this before. You have alarmed the sentry; he thinks I am being assassinated; he thinks there’s a mutiny, a revolt, an insurrection; he—” “Marse Tom, you are just putting on; you know it perfectly well; I don’t know what makes you act like that—but you always did, even when you was little, and you can’t get over it, I reckon. Are you over it now, Marse Tom?” “Oh, well, yes; but it would try anybody to be doing the best he could, offering every kindness he could think of, only to have it rejected with contumely and . . . Oh, well, let it go; it’s no matter—I’ll talk to the doctor. Is that satisfactory, or are you going to break out again?” “Yes, sir, it is; and it’s only right to talk to him, too, because it’s just as she says; she’s trying to keep up discipline in the Rangers, and this insubordination of his is a bad example for them—now ain’t it so, Marse Tom?” “Well, there _is_ reason in it, I can’t deny it; so I will speak to him, though at bottom I think hanging would be more lasting. What is the rest of your errand, Dorcas?” “Of course her room is Ranger headquarters now, Marse Tom, while she’s sick. Well, soldiers of the cavalry and the dragoons that are off duty come and get her sentries to let them relieve them and serve in their place. It’s only out of affection, sir, and because they know military honors please her, and please the children too, for her sake; and they don’t bring their muskets; and so—” “I’ve noticed them there, but didn’t twig the idea. They are standing guard, are they?” “Yes, sir, and she is afraid you will reprove them and hurt their feelings, if you see them there; so she begs, if—if you don’t mind coming in the back way—” “Bear me up, Dorcas; don’t let me faint.” “There—sit up and behave, Marse Tom. You are not going to faint; you are only pretending—you used to act just so when you was little; it does seem a long time for you to get grown up.” “Dorcas, the way the child is progressing, I shall be out of my job before long—she’ll have the whole post in her hands. I must make a stand, I must not go down without a struggle. These encroachments. . . . Dorcas, what do you think she will think of next?” “Marse Tom, she don’t mean any harm.” “Are you sure of it?” “Yes, Marse Tom.” “You feel sure she has no ulterior designs?”