“What do you mean, my good fellow? What have I to do with the overseer’s house?”
“We’s agwine da, sa.”
“Who? you?”
“Boff, sa; an’ Coco too.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses, you imp of darkness?”
“No, sa; Quashie only do what him bid. Da obaseeah Quashie bid fotch young buckra to him house. Dis yeer’s da way.”
“I tell you, boy, you must be mistaken. It is to Mount Welcome I am going—my uncle’s house—up yonder!”
“No, buckra gemman, me no mistake. Da obaseeah berry partikler ’bout dat same. He tell me you no fo’ da great house—da Buff. He say me fotch you to ’im own house.”
“Are you sure of that?” Herbert, as he put this interrogatory, leant forward in the saddle, and listened attentively for the reply.
“Lor, buckra gemman! I’se sure ob it as de sun am in de hebbens dar. I swa’ it, if you like.”