"Deed I did! Wha' business he ha' puttin' he ole nasty claws roun' me!"
"An' what he do, ni?"
"Gal, he le' me go so fas' yo' would 'a' t'ink de lightnin' strike he! An' I wuz so frighten I tu'n roun' ready fo' hollow fo' blue murder, but de Lord was wit' me an' He protect me. Fo' girl, he wen' runnin' in de gutter, pickin' up stones an' shying them at me."
"De wutliss whelp—"
"But girl, like I wuz heah, he was firin' dem ovah yondah! 'Yo' brute,' he say, 'yo' whelp, yo' wan' to jook out my eye, no! Yo' wan' to mek me blind, no!' An' all de time he was peltin' an' peltin' de rock stones at somebody a mile f'um fo'm me!"
"Yo' musta jook he in he eye—"
"Chile, if it wuzn't fo' dis umbrella I wouldn't know where I'd be by now. It's de Lord's own staff o' life."
With a piercing chuckle the buckra walked to the door. "Well," he drawled, "I guess I'd better be going. It's getting late."
Abruptly Mother Cragwell rose and went to him. "Yo' still gwine down de gully, son?" she begged, half-tearfully.
"Oh, don't be sentimental, Mother Cragwell," he said, with good-humor. "I'll manage somehow."