“Who sent you?”
Big Abel snorted. “Who gwine sen' me?” he demanded in his turn.
“Well, I declare,” said Dan, and after a moment, “how did you get away, man?”
“Lawd, Lawd,” returned Big Abel, “I wa'n' bo'n yestiddy nur de day befo'. Terreckly I seed you a-cuttin' up de drive, I knowed dar wuz mo' den wuz in de tail er de eye, en w'en you des lit right out agin en bang de do' behint you fitten ter bus' hit, den I begin ter steddy 'bout de close in de big wa'drobe. I got out one er ole Miss's sheets w'en she wa'n' lookin, en I tie up all de summer close de bes' I kin—caze dat ar do' bang hit ain' soun' like you gwine be back fo' de summer right plum hyer. I'se done heah a do' bang befo' now, en dars mo' in it den des de shettin' ter stay shet.”
“So you ran away?” said Dan, with a long whistle.
“Ain't you done run away?”
“I—oh, I was turned out,” answered the young man, with his eyes on the negro. “But—bless my soul, Big Abel, why did you do it?”
Big Abel muttered something beneath his breath, and went on laying out the things.
“How you gwine git dese yer close ef I ain' tote 'em 'long de road?” he asked presently. “How you gwine git dis yer close bresh ef I ain' brung hit ter you? Whar de close you got? Whar de close bresh?”
“You're a fool, Big Abel,” retorted Dan. “Go back where you belong and don't hang about me any more. I'm a beggar, I tell you, and I'm likely to be a beggar at the judgment day.”