"I done found the Still," she remarked, simply.
"That's good, Polly," Bob said, warmly.
"Caus I'd be'n thar afore, but 'twas a long time ago," she went on, as if in apology for any difficulty she may have run across in finding the secret workshop of her father.
"Yes," Bob went on, encouragingly, as she stopped.
"Yuh see, they don't want gals er wimen ahangin' 'round thar. An' ever since they begun ter keep a prisoner ter work ther mash, I reckons as how never one hes be'n up ter thet place."
"But you hadn't forgotten just how to get there, had you, Polly; you knew the old trail, even with its changes; and did they have a prisoner; or was it just a story that's been going around all this time?"
Bob's impatience could not hold back any longer. He felt that he must know the truth with regard to this fact, right away. If there was no prisoner after all, then hope must sink out of sight. On the other hand, should Polly say that she had discovered a guard, and a patient working figure kept in restraint for long, weary months, he might still hug that fond illusion to his heart, that it might yet turn out to be his own father.
"Yep, I gut thar, even if they had hid the trail right smart," the girl continued, "an' sure 'nuff, thar war a prisoner!"
"Oh!" said Bob, and Thad could feel him quiver again with eagerness.
The girl was slow, not because she wished to tantalize Bob, but simply on account of her sluggish nature. The hook-worm has a firm grip upon most of the "poor whites" of North Carolina, as well as in Tennessee and Georgia close at hand. It would take something out of the common to arouse Polly; a sudden peril perhaps; or the anticipation of a new dress, which latter could not be an event occurring in less than yearly stages, Thad had thought.