“Mar’m Powell plantayshun! Gollys! Massr George—daat all you knows ’bout it?”
“About what?” I inquired with anxious heart.
“Dar’s no Mar’m Powell da no more; nor hain’t a been, since better’n two year—all gone clar ’way.”
“Gone away? Where?”
“Daat dis chile know nuffin ’bout. S’pose da gone some other lokayshun in da rezav; made new clarin somewha else.”
“And who lives here now?”
“Dar ain’t neery one lib tha now: tha ole house am desarted.”
“But why did Madame Powell leave it?”
“Ah—daat am a quaw story. Gollys! you nebber hear um, Massr George?”
“No—never.”