“A reckon yuh wonders what a’m a haw-hawin’ at?” she asked, suddenly. “Well, a’ll tell yuh! ’Tiz case a feels jess like this hyuh contrapshun o’ yourn. A haint hed a bite sence five this mawnin’, and a’ve got a bubble in th’ middle o’ me, a ken tell yuh!”
She opened her flexible mouth almost to her ears, showing both rows of speckless teeth, and roaring mirthfully again.
“I’ve got some sandwiches, here—won’t you have one?” said Gilman.
“Dunno—what be they?” she asked, rather suspiciously, eyeing him sidewise.
He explained to her, and she accepted one, tearing from it a huge semi-circle, which she held in her cheek while exclaiming:
“Murder! hain’t that good, though? D’yuh eat them things ev’y day? Yuh looks hit! You’re a real fine-lookin’ feller—mos’ ez good-lookin’ ez Bill.”
“Who is Bill?” asked Gilman, much interested in this, his first conversation with a genuine savage.
“Bill? he’s muh pard, an’ muh brother, too. I come down hyuh tuh git him a drink o’ water, but a hain’t foun’ a spring yit.”
“No, there isn’t one in several miles,” said Gilman.
“Hyuh!” she cried. “Lemme git out.” . . . And she was out, with the bound of a deer. “You g’long,” she said; “a’m sorry a rode this far wi’ you. You’ll larf ’bout muh bar foots, an’ this hyuh rag o’ mine, wi’ them po’ white trash an’ niggers. Whar you fum, anyhow? You hain’t a Fuginia feller. A kin tell by yo’ talk. You called roots ‘ruts’ jess now, an’ yuh said we’d ‘sun’ be whar them other fellers be. Whar you fum?”