What possessed the footman I know not. Perchance fear of his mistress
was greater than fear of his young master; but he took the lad by the
shoulders--gently, to be sure--and pushed him into the road, where he
fell and rolled over. I guessed what would happen. Picking himself up,
Nick was at the man like a hurricane, seizing him swiftly by the leg.
The negro fell upon the platform, clutching wildly, where he lay in a
sheer fright, shrieking for mercy, his cries rivalled by those of the
lady within. The coachman frantically pulled his horses to a stand, the
other footman jumped off, and Mr. Harry Riddle came flying out of the
coach door, to behold Nicholas beating the negro with his riding-whip.

"You young devil," cried Mr. Riddle, angrily, striding forward, "what are
you doing?"

"Keep off, Harry," said Nicholas. "I am teaching this nigger that he is
not to lay hands on his betters." With that he gave the boy one more
cut, and turned from him contemptuously.

"What is it, Harry?" came in a shrill voice from within the coach.

"It's Nick's pranks," said Mr. Riddle, grinning in spite of his anger;
"he's ruined one of your footmen. You little scoundrel," cried Mr.
Riddle, advancing again, "you've frightened your mother nearly to a
swoon."

"Serves her right," said Nick.

"What!" cried Mr. Riddle. "Come down from there instantly."

Nick raised his whip. It was not that that stopped Mr. Riddle, but a