"Yas, sir, nex' time, Mars'er Dob', yas, sir."
"Well, then, why didn't you come this time?"
"'Cause you is red-headed, Mars'er Dob'!" with a polite and complimentary flourish.
In anger too great for words, Doby stalked away. If he had had one of the Virginia whips he would have laid it on that darky then and there. Red-headed! He had pummeled many a chum for that one word.
"I am not red-headed. It is the firelight that makes my hair look coppery. I don't so much mind being called tow-headed, because I am a little bit tow-headed," he conceded, "but red-headed, never!"
"Don't bother to dress the rabbit," said Simon Kenton to Doby.
"Why not?" asked the boy, putting back his stone knife as quickly as he had pulled it out, for Kenton's slightest wish was law to him.
"The niggers 'll steal it 'fore sun-up."
"Why?"