"Eh! Who dat?" Then, looking around and perceiving Kitty, the old negro's weather-beaten face shone with a broad smile of surprise and welcome. "Why, honey! Why, little Mistiss! How come dis? You makes de ole nigger feel proud; dat you does. I fear'd ter ax you ter set down, honey, de cheer so rickety."
"Uncle Manuel," said Kitty, "do you know Blue Dave?"
Uncle Manuel was old, and wise, and cunning. He hesitated a moment before replying, and even then his caution would not allow him to commit himself.
"Blue Dave, he's dat ar runaway nigger, ain't he, honey? I done year talk un 'im lots er times."
"Well," said Kitty, placing her basket upon Uncle Manuel's tool-chest, "here is something for Blue Dave to eat. If you don't see him yourself, perhaps you can send it to him by some one."
Uncle Manuel picked up the basket, weighed it in his hand, and then placed it on the chest again. Then he looked curiously at Kitty, and said—
"Honey, how come you gwine do dis? Ain't you year tell hit's ag'in de law fer ter feed a runaway nigger?"
Kitty blushed as she thought of George Denham. "I send Blue Dave the victuals because I choose to, Uncle Manuel," she said. "The law has nothing to do with that little basket."
She started to go, but Uncle Manuel raised both hands heavenwards.
"Wait, little Mistiss," he cried, the tears running down his furrowed face; "des wait, little Mistiss. 'Twou't hurt you, honey. De ole nigger wuz des gwine ter git down ter his pra'rs 'fo' you come in. Dey ain't no riper time dan dis."