"Pish-tush!" exclaimed old Jonas, with a scowl; "you should get you a fiddle, Sanders, or a hurdy-gurdy! What I want you to do, the first opportunity you have, is to tell old Tuttle that the nigger that laid him low in Judge Bowden's cotton-patch is at my house. He hates me for doing him a favour, and he hates the nigger for striking him when striking a white man was a hanging offence. He pretends to be a nigger-lover now because he wants office; but when you tell him that this boy is at my house, one of two things will happen: he'll get together a gang of men of his own kidney and try the Ku-Klux game, or he'll have him arrested for assault with intent to murder."
"Bishop," said Adelaide, who had only a dim idea of the meaning of what she had heard, "please don't let them get my Boogerman. I killed him, you know, and he belongs to me."
"No, suh! no, suh!" protested the Boogerman. "I don't want Mr. Tuttle to lay eyes on me. I jest wanted to see my mammy, an' find out where 'bouts Miss Betty is, an' then I'll git out'n folks' way. I might stand up an' tell Mr. Tuttle the truth frum now twel next year an' he wouldn't b'lieve a word I said. Me see Mr. Tuttle? No, suh! When Mr. Tuttle calls on me, I'll be gone—done gone!"
"Yasser!" cried Lucindy; "he's tellin' you de naked trufe! You reckin I'd let my chile see ol' Tuttle? Well, not me! Maybe somebody else'd do it, but not me! not ol' Lucindy! Don't you never b'lieve dat."
"You say you can read and write?" said old Jonas to the Boogerman. "Well, come into the house here, and black my shoes. Then, after that you may preach me a sermon."
"Yes!" exclaimed Adelaide, "Cally-Lou is awake now; I saw her at the window; come in, Boogerman, and let her see you. She is seven years old, and has never seen the Boogerman."
"First, let Lucindy give you something to eat," said old Jonas, "but don't fail to come in and black my shoes!"
Old Jonas, Bishop Sanders, and Adelaide went into the house, while the Boogerman went into the kitchen with his mother, where, seated by the window, and as far away from the fireplace as ever, he told the tale of his adventures—a tale which we are not concerned with here. Mr. Sanders and old Jonas were soon absorbed in a game of checkers, but they were not so completely lost in their surroundings that they failed to pay heed to Adelaide as she went from room to room calling Cally-Lou. Presently she seemed to find her in the parlour.
"You are pouting," she said, "or you'd never be sitting in this room where nobody ever comes. Why, they don't have any fires in here, and nothing to eat. Nunky-Punky says if the sun was to shine in here, the carpet would curl up and get singed. You don't know what it is to be singed, do you? Well, it's the way Mammy Lucindy does the chicken after all the feathers are picked off. She kindles the fire until it blazes, and then holds the chicken in it until all its whiskers are burnt off. You didn't know chickens had whiskers, did you? Well, they have. You'll never find out anything if you mope in the house and pout like this. I didn't know any child could be so hard-headed."