"Man, ain't you tired?" the woman asked when they came in sight of the negro quarters.
"Me? I'll go twenty miles before sun-up," replied Aaron.
"I'll never tell on you no mo'," said the woman; "not ef dey kills me." She turned to go to her cabin, when Aaron touched her on the shoulder.
"Wait!" he whispered. "If it brings more meat for your young ones, tell! Fetch the men here; show 'em where I stood,—if it brings you more meat for your babies."
"Sho nuff?" asked the woman, amazed. Aaron nodded his head. "What kind er folks is you?" she cried. "You ain't no nigger. Dey ain't no nigger on top er de groun' dat'd stan' up dar an' talk dat away. Will dey ketch you ef I tell?" The woman was thinking about the meat.
Aaron lifted his right hand in the air, turned, and disappeared in the darkness, which was now changing to the gray of dawn. The woman remained where she was standing for some moments as if considering some serious problem. Then she shook her head.
"I'd git de meat—but dey mout ketch 'im, an' den what'd I look like?"
This remark seemed to please her, for she repeated it more than once before moving out of her tracks. When she did move, she went to her cabin, kindled a fire, cooked something for her children,—she had three,—placed a biscuit and a piece of ham for each, and, although she had not slept a wink, prepared to go to the field. It was almost time, too, for she heard the hog feeder in the horse lot talking angrily to the mules, as he parceled out their corn and forage. Presently she heard him calling the hogs to get a bite of corn,—the fattening hogs that were running about in the horse lot.