“What?” demanded Marvin, with an affectation of deep surprise. “Can’t he find nuthin’ else ter cuss an’ beat?”
“Pore—old—man!” exclaimed “hongry Jeb,” wagging his black head, and showing the gleaming whites of his eyes in his characteristic sidelong glance.
“Well, I expect Tad has been a good deal better off along of you,” Harshaw admitted. “But that don’t make it right for you to have kidnapped him.”
“Lord knows, we-uns didn’t want him,” said Marvin. “We-uns ain’t gifted in goadin’ sech a critter ez him, like old man Griff. We can’t git work enough out’n him ter wuth the stealin’. He jes’ kem up ter whar we-uns lived, one night. I reckon ’twar several nights arter he war flung in the water. He looked mighty peaked.”
“An’ I never see a critter so hongry,” put in the pullet boldly from her seat in the chimney corner, her long yellow feet dangling beneath her short homespun skirt, her hair, which was luxuriant, gathered in a sort of top-knot on her head, “’thout ’twar Jeb thar.” She gave a cackling laugh of elation at this thrust, as she knitted off her needle in a manner that might make one wonder to see a pullet so deft.
Jeb good-naturedly grinned, and Marvin went on:—
“We reckoned he war a spy for the revenuers, ’kase they ’lowed we wouldn’t suspect sech ez him, sent ter find out edzac’ly whar the place be, an’ we war ’feared ter let him go back.”
Harshaw winced.
“So we jes’ kerried him off along o’ we-uns. Mebbe ’twarn’t right, but folkses sech ez we-uns air can’t be choosers.”
“Naw, sir; else we can’t be folkses,” said “hongry Jeb.”