But Nature is ever slow, and sometimes the wheel of life moves too
quickly for her methods to take effect.
Sybil was sitting one day by an open window when Beelzebub dashed
suddenly into view. He was on horseback, riding barebacked, and was
evidently in a ferment of excitement. He bawled some incoherent words as
he passed the window, words which Sybil could not distinguish, but which
nevertheless sent a sharp sense of foreboding through her heart. Had
he--or had he not--yelled something to her about "Boss"? She could not
possibly have said, but the suspicion was sufficiently strong to rouse
her to lean out of the window and try to catch something of what the boy
was saying.
He had reached the yard, and had flung himself off the sweating animal.
As she peered forth she caught sight of Curtis coming out of the stable.
Beelzebub saw him too, and broke out afresh with his wild cry. This
time, straining her ears to listen, she caught the words, all jumbled
together though they were.
"Boss got smallpox!"
She saw Curtis stop dead, and she wondered if his heart, like hers, had
ceased to beat. The next instant he moved forward, and for the first
time she saw him deliberately punch the gesticulating negro's woolly
head.
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