"Wait till I git big enough, bedad, an' kill ole Jake Cannon for this day's work."
As they rode on they came to the man called Sorden, riding as the guide to the invading column, a person of more genteel address than any beneath Van Dorn, and young, pliable, and frolicking.
"My skin!" he said. "Now, boys, Van Dorn oughtn't had to brung you. You're too sniptious for this rough work. I love the Captain better than I ever loved A male, but he oughtn't to spile boys."
"Van Dorn told me to come," Owen Daw cried. "I'm big enough to buck a nigger."
"I love him better than I ever loved A male," said Sorden, apologetically. "Who is t'other young offender?"
"I'm a stranger to your parts," Levin replied. "Mrs. Cannon made me come. I didn't want to."
"Are you afear'd?"
"Yes," Levin said.
"Well, I love the Captain better than I ever loved A male. But boys is boys, and I hate to see 'em spiled. If you was nigger boys I wouldn't keer a cent; but white's my color, and I don't want to trade in it."
They halted at a small, sharp-gabled brick house, of one story and a kitchen and garret, at the left of the road, to which the corner of a piece of oak and hickory woods came up shelteringly, while in the rear several small barns and cribs enclosed the triangle of a field. A door in the middle, towards Maryland, seemed very high-silled, and low grated windows were at the cellar on each side of the steps.