"Why, he couldn't help but know, but he didn't believe it; he said it was a fib."
"Well, I'll be jigged!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders. "Call that boy over here."
Cephas turned around—they had passed the house where the little boy lived—and called out: "Onnaja! Onnaja! Stermera Andersa antwasa ota eesa ooya."
The small boy came running, though there was a doubtful look on his face. He had frequently been the victim of Cephas's practical jokes.
Mr. Sanders questioned him closely, and he confirmed the interpretation of the lingo which Cephas had given to Mr. Sanders.
"Do you mean to tell me," said Mr. Sanders to Cephas when they had dismissed the small boy, "that this kinder thing has been goin' on right under my nose, an' I not knowin' a word about it? How'd you pick up the lingo?"
"Gabriel teached it to me," replied Cephas. "He talks it better than any of the boys, and I come next." This last remark Cephas made with a blush.
"Do I look pale, my son?" inquired Mr. Sanders, mopping his red face with his handkerchief. Cephas gave a negative reply by shaking his head. "Well, I may not look pale, but I shorely feel pale. You'll have to loan me your arm, Cephas; I feel like Christopher Columbus did when he discovered Atlanta, Ga."
"Why, he didn't discover Atlanta, Mr. Sanders," protested Cephas.
"He didn't!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders. "Well, it was his own fault ef he didn't. All he had to do was to read the country newspapers. But that's neither here nor thar. Here I've been buttin' my head ag'in trees, an' walkin' in my sleep tryin' for to study up some plan to git word to Gabriel, an' here you walk along the street an' make me a present of the very thing I want, an' I ain't even thanked you for it."