“Simmon tree, Mass’ George. No see one nowhere ’bout.”
“But you couldn’t get there if you could see them.”
“No get um?” he said with a laugh. “Pomp no get um? Wait a bit.”
“Why, how could you manage?”
“No manage ’tall. ’Wim dah, and ’wim back.”
Then we scanned the waste of waters in the hope that we might see something, even if it was only some drowned animal, but nothing came in sight till well on in the afternoon, when Hannibal made some remark which sent Pompey into a tremendous state of excitement.
“What is it?” I cried, eagerly rising from where I had been down to examine my notch, to find that the water remained nearly unchanged.
“Pomp and um fader see some fis’ good to eat,” said the boy. “Come see.”
I climbed up to where he was, and he pointed; but for some time I could make out nothing but driftwood, a tree floating roots upward, and some great patches of grass that seemed to have been scooped out of a bank, roots and all.
“I can’t see anything,” I said at last.