“Well, den, ’long as you will go widout any ’fence or ’tection—”
“Except the Lord, Henny.”
“Yes, honey, sure ’nough—’cept de Lord’s—hadn’t you better put on—hem—a-hem—male boy’s clothes?”
“What?”
“Wouldn’t it be more of a ’tection to you? Now, der’s a suit in de house, you calls to min’, as ’ill jus’ fit you. Dem as ’longed to Miss Georgy, when she were a masquerade-play-actorin’ here wid de city folks, here one Christmas. Dey’d fit you to a tee.”
“No, thank you, Henny!”
“You ain’t mad ’long o’ me for sayin’ of it, is you, Miss Kate?”
“Mad? Poor girl! No, Henny.”
“Nor likewise ’noyed in yer feelin’s?”
“No, no, you did but mistake,” answered Catherine, getting into her saddle, while James held the pony, and Henny affectionately arranged the riding skirt around her feet and handed her the whip.