“‘Poor doggie!’ said the Little Master. ‘Come here!’ He looked at me closely, and exclaimed:—
“‘Why, this is one of the Gossett track dogs! What is he doing here?’
“But the man named Abe said he didn’t know. Then the Young Mistress wondered if I was one of the dogs that had been running after a negro in the woods that morning, and she asked the man named Abe, looking at him hard, if he had seen a strange negro bring the filly home. But the man named Abe shook his head and fumbled with the splits which he wove into baskets.
“The Little Master said he had come to hear a story, one of those old stories about Brother Fox and Brother Rabbit. I thought to myself that if all the rabbits I had caught could talk, they would have more stories to tell than the Little Master had time to listen to. The man named Abe shuffled around and coughed and excused himself, but it was no use. I knew he wanted the Young Mistress and the Little Master to go away. He was uneasy about the Son of Ben Ali—afraid that they might discover the runaway. But nothing would satisfy the Little Master but a story, and so the man named Abe sat down and told him one. And then nothing would satisfy him but another story, and so they went on, until finally I fell asleep by the hearth. I could hear the story-telling going on in my dreams, and I remember I said to myself that if the man named Abe, or any other man, was as willing to work as he was to talk, a good many things would be different.
“While I was lying there dozing, I heard the Son of Ben Ali begin to snore. The Little Master heard it too, for he asked what the noise was. The man named Abe said it was the dog—meaning me—and then he went on with his story, moving his feet about on the floor and talking loud. I dozed off again, and was getting ready to go to sleep sure enough, for I was tired, when suddenly I heard a noise outside, as of two or three persons creeping around the cabin. I jumped up and ran to the door and smelt under it. The scent that came under the door was the scent of strange persons, and of white people at that. Just as I was about to cry out my discovery I got a whiff of another scent. I knew at once that George Gossett was with the strange persons, and that they were patroling the settlement searching for the Son of Ben Ali.
“I gave one whine, and ran under the bed, for I didn’t want young Grizzly to see me there.
“‘What is the matter with the dog?’ asked the Young Mistress, in some alarm.
“‘Sh-h!’ said the man named Abe, softly.
“Then some one struck the door with a cane, following it with a loud demand:—