"Why not be able to stay 'way?" queried she, with a sharp glance.
"Oh, you can guess, Aunt Pallas. I shan't tell you."
"People isn't allers satisfied with guessing—like to have things plain, and no mistake 'bout 'em," observed Pallas.
"Just so. I am not satisfied with guessing who tried to kill me, and what their object was. I am going to ask Alice, this evening. She's evidently frightened about me; she won't let me stir a step alone. So you think your pickaninny is the best and the prettiest child alive, do you?"
"Dat I do."
"So do I. What do you suppose she thinks of such a worthless kind of a person as myself? Do, now, tell me, won't you, auntie?"
"You clar out, young masser, and don't bozzer me. I'se busy wid dis ironin'. You'd better ask her, if yer want to find out."
"But can't you say something to encourage me?"
"You go 'long. Better tease somebody hain't got no ironin' on hand."