Abel burst into a hearty laugh—so hearty that Bart’s face was slowly overspread by a broad smile.
“Why, lud, that’s better,” he said, grimly. “I ar’n’t seen you do that for months. Work away.”
The hint was given because of the overseer glancing in their direction, and they now worked on together slowly, going down the row toward the jungle, at which Bart kept on darting uneasy glances.
“Enough to make a man laugh to hear you talk of ghosts, Bart,” said Abel, after a time.
“What could it be, then?”
“Parrot some lady tamed,” said Abel, shortly, as they worked on side by side, “escaped to the woods again. Some of these birds talk just like a Christian.”
“Ay,” said Bart, after a few moments’ quiet thought, “I’ve heared ’em, lad; but there’s no poll parrot out here as knows me.”
“Knows you?”
“Well, didn’t I tell you as it called to me ‘Bart! Bart!’”
“Sounded like it,” said Abel, laconically. “What does he want?”