“Any one there?” said a faint voice, followed by the muttered words,—“Poor Mas’ Don. What will my Sally do? What will she do?”
“Jem, I’m here,” said Don huskily; and there was a rustling sound in the far part of the dark place.
“Oh! You there, Mas’ Don? I thought you’d got away.”
“How could I get away when they had caught you?” said Don, reproachfully.
“Slid down and run. There was no one there to stop you. Why, I says to myself when they pounced on me, if I gives ’em all their work to do, they’ll be so busy that they won’t see Mas’ Don, and he’ll be able to get right away. Why didn’t you slither and go?”
“Because I should have been leaving you in the lurch, Jem; and I didn’t want to do that.”
“Well, I—well, of all—there!—why, Mas’ Don, did you feel that way?”
“Of course I did.”
“And you wouldn’t get away because I couldn’t?”
“That’s what I thought, Jem.”