Catty shook it a minute, and then, without a word, he turned and ran down the steps and disappeared into the dark.
I was glad he was going to stay, because I liked him and I liked his Dad. My Dad was glad, too. Mother says:
“I hope it’s best. They’ll have some hard things to put up with—especially the boy.”
“I’m not worrying about the boy,” says Dad, “now that his mind is made up.”
Somehow I didn’t worry about Catty, either.
CHAPTER IV
Next morning bright and early I hustled down to the shanty where Catty and his father were staying. Mr. Atkins was sitting on his log, fishing for pickerel and looking pretty sober and dubious. Catty was sitting alongside of him, looking into the bayou and never saying a word.
“Mornin’,” says I.
“Mornin’,” says Catty.
Mr. Atkins turned his head and waggled it at me. “He’s went and gone and done it,” says he.