She waited long, but heard no sound of horse's tread or wagon-wheel. Anxious, she went to the cabin door and looked out. The big mules were still where they had been fastened the night before. The wagon was there, too.
Her heart sank. She looked quickly along the low rafters supporting the roof of the narrow porch to where her father's fishing pole and pail always hung. Both were gone.
"'T ain' no use, 't ain' no use," she said, as she turned into the house with a look of something like anguish in her eyes.
When the spare breakfast was eaten and the dishes cleared away, Lolotte turned with resolute mien to the two little brothers.
"Veveste," she said to the older, "go see if dey got co'n in dat wagon fu feed deni mule'."
"Yes, dey got co'n. Papa done feed 'em, fur I see de co'n-cob in de trough, me."
"Den you goen he'p me hitch dem mule, to de wagon. Jacques, go down de lane an' ax Aunt Minty if she come set wid Nonomme w'ile I go drive dem mule' to de landin'."
Lolotte had evidently determined to undertake her father's work. Nothing could dissuade her; neither the children's astonishment nor Aunt Minty's scathing disapproval. The fat black negress came laboring into the yard just as Lolotte mounted upon the wagon.
"Git down f'om dah, chile! Is you plumb crazy?" she exclaimed.
"No, I ain't crazy; I'm hungry, Aunt Minty. We all hungry. Somebody got fur work in dis fam'ly."