“Save my life, Isaiah!” Little Bit shrieked. “She’s a comin’!”
“Sot down, Little Bit,” Isaiah remarked in a sleepy tone. “You gits at least one good skeer eve’y day. Now set yo’ triggers an’ take good aim, an’ git at de right eend of de gun befo’ you shoots her off! Who’s a comin’?”
“Gawd knows!” Little Bit moaned.
“Whut do she look like?” Isaiah demanded.
“She don’t favor nothin’ or nobody!” Little Bit sighed. “Oo-ee! Her’s got on shoes an’ socks, but her dress is cut bobtail——”
He stopped with a shriek. Diada, carrying his gun, came walking sedately across the clearing toward the cabin.
Isaiah gazed upon her for a second, then slowly raised himself to his feet, and with the explosive force of a steam-whistle, he bellowed:
“My—good—gosh!”
He ran to the side of the house where an ax reposed upon the wood-pile. Seizing this, he flourished it in a threatening manner and bawled:
“Hey, dar! Stop! Hol’ up! Quit yo’ foolin’!”