The man said that he was hungry and asked for work.

But the Colonel, almost without waiting to hear him speak, fell upon him in a fit of blind rage, slashing him half a dozen times over the head and shoulders with his heavy riding crop.

The negro, who was a powerfully built fellow, instead of standing up and defending himself like a man, crouched on the ground with his arms over his head.
"Please, Cunnel Gaylord," he whimpered, "le' me go! I ain't done nuffen.
I ain't steal no chickens.

For Gord's sake, doan whip me!" I sprang forward with an angry exclamation and grasped my uncle's arm.
The fellow was on his feet instantly and off down the lane without once glancing back.

The Colonel stood a moment looking from my indignant face to the man disappearing in the distance, and burst out laughing.
"I reckon I won't be troubled with _him_ any more," he remarked as he mounted and rode away, his good humor apparently quite restored.
I confess that it took me some time to get over that scene.