Ruth had to flush at that. How the boss had guessed her errand she did not know; but she believed he suspected the reason for her visit. It was a moment or two before she could decide whether to confide in him or not.
Meanwhile, Toby held her stirrup and she leaped down and mounted the platform. The negro led the mare and the mule into the shade. Mr. Jimson still smiled lazily at her, and chewed a straw.
Finally, when Ruth was just before the man, she smiled one of her friendly, confiding smiles and he capitulated.
“Miss Ruth,” he said, in his soft, Southern drawl, “Jes’ what is it yo’ want? I saw you an’ that other little Miss Yank—beggin’ yo’ pahdon—lookin’ at that rag’muffin I took in yisterday, an’ I s’pected that you knowed him.”
“Oh, Mr. Jimson! how sharp you are.”
“Pretty sharp,” admitted the boss, with a sly smile. “I’d like t’ know what he’s done.”
“He’s run away from home,” Ruth said quickly.
“Ya-as. They mos’ allus do. But what did he do ’fore he ran away, Miss Ruth?”
The man’s dry, crooked smile held assurance in it. Ruth realized that if she wanted his help—and she did—she must be more open with Mr. Jimson.
“I don’t believe that he has really done anything very bad,” Ruth said gravely. “It was what he was accused of and the punishment threatening him, which made Curly run away.”