"Miss Jinny!"
I turned to, find Cookie gazing after me with an expression which, in the familiar phrase of fiction, I could not interpret, though among its ingredients were doubt and anguish. Cookie, too, looked pale. I don't in the least know how he managed it, but that was the impression he conveyed, dusky as he was.
"Miss Jinny, it mos' look lak yo' 'bout to go perambulatin' in dese yere woods?"
"I am, Cookie," I admitted.
The whites of Cookie's eyes became alarmingly conspicuous. Drawing near in a stealthy manner he whispered:
"Yo' bettah not, Miss Jinny!"
"Better not?" I repeated, staring.
He answered with a portentous head-shake.
"Oh, nonsense, Cookie!" I said impatiently, "There's not a thing on the island but the pigs!"
"Miss Jinny," he solemnly replied, "dey's pigs and pigs."