"You don't say so!"
"But we both owned to Captain Rice, now. Jube, you not forgot that," said Paul, earnestly.
"What's that you're a saying! Dave Rice a bringing home slaves into old Connecticut, and one uv 'em e'enamost white! I say, neighbors, what will the selectmen say to that?"
Instantly there was a season of whispered and eager consultation. With all their joy over the deliverance of Rice from a watery grave, the neighbors were not prepared to accept the slaves he seemed to be sending home from foreign parts.
"What do you think," said the chief speaker, "they'll perhaps become an expense to the town, and have to be bid off for their board with the other paupers—supposing we send them back."
"Wait till we've examined 'em according to law," interposed another, who was a selectman of the township. "Perhaps I'd better do it. Now jest stand by and listen."
"What do you do for a living, if I may ask," he commenced, planting himself in the road in front of Jube, "before we admit strangers, especially colored, it's as well to be sure that they wont be a town charge—what do you foller?"
Jube shook his head—the whole speech was a mystery to him.
"What do you foller?" persisted the selectman, getting impatient.
"What do I folly!" repeated Jube, with a puzzled look, then brightening up all at once, he added with a smile: