"Well, hit air the case, an' there's more ter come. Ye hain't hearn the wo'st part."
"An' what d'ye mean by thet?"
"I mean a heap, thet's w'at I mean."
"A heap er what?"
"Ef ye'll promerse me on yer wordy honor ter keep still tell I say at ye may go free, I'll tell yer w'at."
"I promerse, sarting."
"On yer wordy honor?"
"Yes."
"I'm erfeard ye'll go ter bein' a fool an' makin' a fuss 'fore I whant ye to. 'Cause ye see, hit mayn't be es bad es it mought."
As Mrs. White said this, White looked searchingly into her face, and what he saw there caused him to move uneasily and puff his tobacco smoke nervously.