“And that gentleman said if I wanted I could come up to his house and sleep in the barn, and have my meals at the house till I got my first pay from the mill, all for teaching his dog tricks. So I went up and I’ve been staying there.”
“You don’t seem to be there now,” broke in pa. “Not so’s you could notice it.”
“Why,” cried the boy, “I had to come and tell you-all, didn’t I? I thought you-all would be wanting to know.”
“We do; sure we do,” ma said, reaching forward to pat the boy on the shoulder. “Pa’s just as glad as any one, Hi. Don’t you let him fool you, the way he speaks.”
“No’em.”
“I don’t see no especial reason for rejoicing that a poor little boy is going to be shut up in that mill,” growled pa. “Hain’t I heard the whistles blowing at five, dark mornings and all, rousting them young uns out of bed? And ain’t I seen ’em trudging home after dark come? All the day gone by, and no good to them! No, you don’t get no celebration out of me over any child or chick getting in that there mill!”
“Now, please sir,” broke in Hi, in a kind of free way he had, “don’t you worry about me none. I’m going in that mill, but I ain’t going to stay there—not unless I like it mighty well. I’m going to get on, if I can. I want to get back to my ma, or to have my ma and the kids come here. But I’m done with that there show and that Weary Willie way of living. I ain’t going to trouble you none, don’t you think it. I won’t even come up to the house if you don’t want me to. But I’m thankful to you for what you’ve done for Zalie, and for what you done for her poor ma, and it just come natural to tell you how I was getting on.”
“What made you run along in them there bushes the way you did?” asked pa. “Why didn’t you come out fair and square and holler at us and let us know who you was? Why, you like to scared my horses.”
Hi was usually ready with an answer, but now he drooped.
“Can’t you speak?” demanded pa.