“Firs’ yate, mist’ess. Been fetchin’ an’ ca’in’ clo’es back’a’ds an’ fo’a’ds fo’ mammy,” Tom answered.
Then he smiled a broader smile than ever, and said:
“Soon’s ebber mammy tol’ me how yo’ was come back yere I yunned yight ober yere to pay my ’bed’ence; but Mr. ’Pollyon Syphax tol’ me how yo’ had comp’ny, ma’am, so I didn’ like to ’trude; but I’s moughty p’oud to see yo’, mist’ess, ’deed I is.”
“Thank you, Tom. How would you like to go to the Isle of Storms with me?”
“I’d des like to go to de een’ ob de worl’ ’long o’ yo’, mist’ess; but I’d yudder go to dat ole p’ace wiv yo’ dan to any yudder p’ace on dis yeth—I would, fo’ a fac’,” said Tom, almost tempted to turn a somersault in his delight.
“Then you shall go.”
“How is little Miss Cafferine, mist’ess?”
“She is well. She is with me here. She will go with us to the Isle of Storms.”
“Oh! aine I g’ad! We shall all be so happy, mist’ess.”
“I hope so. Now, Tom, as it is late, you had better go home to your mother. She may be uneasy about you.”