“The white one in the trees?” asked Bill.
“Yaas, suh, de only one any pusson kin see from hyar. Dat am Hilltop, Marse Conway’s ol’ place.”
“Where Mr. Lewis lives now!”
“Eggzackly so, ma’am. Marse Joyce’s place ez jus’ back er yonder.”
“Bet he calls it, ‘The Den,’” said Bill.
Uncle Abe cackled, “No, suh, Marse Bill—hee-hee—dat house done called ‘Nearma’.”
“Near ma?” repeated Dorothy in a puzzled tone. “There are some queer Indian names in this part of the country, but that’s a new one on me.”
“’Tain’t Injun, Missy. Dat dere hones’ ter goodness ’Merican. Marse Joyce’s ol’ Ma uster lib cross de ridgeroad. Dat how he come ter name de house ‘Near Ma’.”
“That old scurmudgeon! I don’t believe it!” cried Bill in an explosion of laughter.
“Dat am de spittin’ trufe, Marse Bill. De ol’ lady am daid, but he still call de place Nearma jus’ de same.”