“Ne’mind. I’ll tell Mother I forgot a book and hadta come home f’r it. But she won’t see me, maybe. I’ll sneak in the back door, an’ Zida’ll never tell on me. Mother was goin’ ridin’ this mornin’, anyway.”
“But what’re we gonta do, Josh?” wailed Lester again, as Joshua started away.
“Aw, ferget that, can’t ye! We’re goin’ West, I tell ye! You leave everything to me, Les.”
“You got me into this, an’—”
But Joshua was running and paid no further heed; and Lester threw himself upon the damp ground and gave his misery full swing.
Zida Hunt, the Coles’ negro cook and maid of all work, was a friend of the erring Joshua. As the boy entered the kitchen of the big brick house which the Coles called home she turned toward him and lifted high her hands. Zida was given to emotionalism on the slightest provocation.
“Lord, chile, what yo’-all doin’ home dis time o’ day?”
“I forgot one o’ my books, Zida, an’ Ole Madhouse sent me home to get it,” lied the boy. “Where’s Mother?”
“She done gone out ridin’ in de kerrige,” Zida told him.
“Well, don’t say nothin’, will ye, Zida? About me bein’ sent home, you know. They ain’t any use to, now, is there?”