"All de words I hear um say wuz 'bout der Little Marster—how good he is an' how he all de time thinkin' mo' 'bout yuther folks dan he do 'bout his own se'f."
"Humph!" snorted Mr. Gossett. Mr. Simmons moved about uneasily.
"Whyn't you go in an' see whether Aaron was in there?" asked George Gossett.
"Bekaze, Marse George, dey'd 'a' know'd right pine-blank what I come fer. 'Sides dat, Big Sal is a mighty bad nigger 'oman when she git mad."
"You're as big as she is," suggested Mr. Gossett.
"Yes, suh; but I ain't got de ambition what Big Sal got," replied the woman humbly.
"I'll tell you, Simmons, that runaway nigger is the imp of Satan," remarked Mr. Gossett.
"But, Colonel, if he's that, what do you want him caught for?" inquired Mr. Simmons humorously.
"Why, so much the more need for catching him. I want to get my hands on him. If I don't convert him, why, then you may go about among your friends and say that Gossett is a poor missionary. You may say that and welcome."