A SUMMONS
tone. "I must be off," he added, rising. "Will you dine with us Thursday next, Aristide?"
"With pleasure, Giles." Dessalines arose and walked with him to the miniature stable, led out the horse, and stood at his head as Giles mounted, then watched him long and thoughtfully as he cantered down the drive; the black face was brooding, morose, moping.
A sudden sharp noise smote his ear; turning swiftly he saw that a fox-terrier pup, given him some weeks before by Giles, in trotting about the corner of the house had run unexpectedly upon a large cat which had sprung at him, spitting. Ki-yi-yi! yelped the puppy, as it fled, ears back, eyes wide with terror, tail snugly tucked between its fat legs.
Dessalines roared with laughter, slapped his thigh, rocked back and forth in a gust of uncontrollable mirth; then threw himself upon the grass and rolled, still roaring.
That night Dessalines read late; he was fond of reading. By choice he preferred subjects thoughtful,
elegantly written with floreate rhetoric and high-sounding phrases, but elementary and simple in principle. Let a thought be subtle, abstruse, combined, attendant upon something previously or later demonstrated and the broad, black forehead would wrinkle, the mouth draw down, the slightly protruding eyes would grow vacant, confused. Sometimes the effort to cerebrate would develop a sensation of physical pain beneath the heavy temporal bones, and before long he would throw down the book, growl, pick it up again, make another effort, then rise suddenly and if the day was fair, order his horse, deciding that his brain was overworked, unwilling
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