"Is it Mas' Tom?" he gasped. "Mas' Tom what let me go?"
"Yes, Polete," I answered gently, "it's Master Tom."
"Whar am I?" he asked faintly. "Have dee got me 'gin? Dee gwine to buhn me?"
"No, no," I said. "Nobody 's going to harm you, Polete. Where have you been all this time?"
"In d' woods," he whispered, "hidin' in d' swamps, an' skulkin' long aftah night. Could n' nevah sleep, Mas' Tom. When I went t' sleep, seemed laike d' dogs was right aftah me."
His head fell back again, and a rush of blood in his throat almost choked him.
"Wish I'd stayed at d' plantation, Mas' Tom," he whispered. "Nothin' could n' been no wo'se 'n what I went frough. Kep' 'long d' ribbah, laike yo' said, but could n' git nothin' t' eat only berries growin' in d' woods. Got mighty weak, 'n' den las' night met d' Injuns."
"Last night!" I cried. "Where, Polete?"
"Obah dah 'long d' ribbah," he answered faintly. "Dee gib me some'n' t' eat, an' I frought maybe dee'd take me 'long, but dis mornin' dee had a big powwow, an' dee shot me an' knock me in d' haid. Seems laike dee 's gwine t' buhn a big plantation t'-night."
"A big plantation, Polete?" I asked. "Where? Tell me—oh, you must tell me!"