Rush!
“Jem!”
“All right, Mas’ Don! Only slipped ten foot of an easy bit to save tumbles.”
“It isn’t true. I was looking at you, and I saw that root you were holding come out of the rock.”
“Did you, Mas’ Don? Oh, I thought I did that o’ purpose,” came from below.
“Where are you?”
“Sitting straddling on a big bit o’ bush.”
“Where? I can’t see you.”
“Here, all right. ’Tarn’t ten foot, it’s about five and twenty—
“‘De-riddle-lol-de-ri.’”