"Ain' you gwine ter step in es you'se passin'?" he inquired.
Eugenia shook her head.
"Not to-day, Uncle Ish," she responded cheerfully. "I know you're tired—and how is your rheumatism?"
"Wuss en wuss," responded the old negro gloomily. "I'se done cyar'ed one er dese yer I'sh taters in my pocket twell hit sprouted, en de rhematiks ain' never knowed 'twuz dar. Hit's wuss en wuss."
As they passed on, he hobbled painfully up the rocky path, leaning heavily upon his stick and grunting audibly at each rheumatic twinge.
Nicholas and Eugenia followed the highway and turned into the avenue of cedars. When the house was in sight, he stopped and held out his hand.
"May I see you sometimes?" he asked diffidently.
She spoke eagerly.
"Oh, do come to see us," she said. "Papa would enjoy talking about Judge Bassett. He half worships him."
"So do I."