“Hello, Jim!” and skipped out.
He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says:
“Doan’ hurt me—don’t! I hain’t ever done no harm to a ghos’. I alwuz liked dead people, en done all I could for ’em. You go en git in de river ag’in, whah you b’longs, en doan’ do nuffn to Ole Jim, ’at ’uz alwuz yo’ fren’.”
Well, I warn’t long making him understand I warn’t dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I warn’t lonesome now. I told him I warn’t afraid of him telling the people where I was. I talked along, but he only set there and looked at me; never said nothing. Then I says:
“It’s good daylight. Le’s get breakfast. Make up your camp-fire good.”
“What’s de use er makin’ up de camp-fire to cook strawbries en sich truck? But you got a gun, hain’t you? Den we kin git sumfn better den strawbries.”
“Strawberries and such truck,” I says. “Is that what you live on?”
“I couldn’ git nuffn else,” he says.
“Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?”
“I come heah de night arter you’s killed.”