"Why have you left him?
Answer me." For an instant the negro hesitated, leaned forward, and then with a burst of joy end out: "You ain't!--Fo' Gawd it is! Dat beard on ye, Marse Harry, done fool me--but you is him fo' sho.

Gor-a-mighty! ain't I glad ye ain't daid.
Marse George say on'y yisterday you was either daid or sick dat ye didn't write an'-- " "Said yesterday! Why, is he at home ?" "HOME! Lemme throw a blanket over dis hoss and tie him tell we come back.

Oh, we had a heap o' mis'ry since ye went away--a heap o' trouble.
Nothin' but trouble! You come 'long wid me--'tain't far; des around de corner.

I'll show ye sompin' make ye creep all over.

An' it ain't gettin' no better--gettin' wuss.