Chunk had again returned to his haunts and had made havoc in the poultry-yard. Now he worked like a beaver, meantime enjoining Aun' Suke "ter sabe de plumpest chicken ob de lot fer my Boss. Marse Scoville brung 'em all yere, you knows. Hi! but we uns had ter git out sud'n dough dis mawnin'."
"Does you tink de Linkum men git druv off agin?"
"How you talks! Aun' Suke. Hi! Druv off! Why, de ridge des black wid um—anuff ter eat Mad Whately en all he men alibe. Dey des ridin' troo de kintry freein' we uns."
"Well, I hopes I kin stay free till night, anyhow," said Aun' Suke, pausing in her work to make a dab at a little darky with her wooden spoon sceptre. "Firs' Marse Scoville whirl in en say I free; den old miss whirl in en say I ain'; now conies de gin'ral ob de hull lot en I'se free agin. Wat's mo', de freer I git de harder I has ter wuk. My haid gwine roun' lak dat ar brass rewster on de barn, wen' de win' blow norf en souf ter oncet."
"No mattah 'bout yo' haid, Aun' Suke. Dat ain' no 'count. Hit's yo' han's dat de gin'ral want busy."
"No mattah 'bout my haid, eh? Tek dat on yo'n den," and she cracked
Chunk's skull sharply.
"Dat's right, Aun' Suke, keep de flies away," remarked Chunk quietly.
"You git all de freedom you wants ef you does ez I sez."
"Mo'n I wants ef I've got ter min' ev'ybody, eben dem w'at's neber growed up."
"I des step ter de gin'ral en say you hab dejections 'bout cookin' he dinner. Den I tell 'im ter order out a char'ot ter tek you ter glory."
"G'lang! imperdence," said Aun' Suke, resuming her duties.