"You appear to know them." There was a smile hidden beneath the voice; but Jack was thinking, not of the questioner, indistinguishable in the darkness, but of the mad carnival up yonder on the hill.
"Yep. That's Split," he said. "That one—see—with the bushy lot of hair, singing and cake-walking in front. She can do a cake-walk better'n any nigger I ever see."
"Indeed!"
"That's Frank, the baby—the one that's screamin' so. You can tell her squeals; they're laughin' ones, you know."
"I suppose I ought to know. Anyway, I'm glad to be told."
"Over on the side there, where there's a kind of blotch, is the twins; they must be fighting. Don, the dog, 's mixed up in it somehow."
"My word!" exclaimed the man, softly, to himself.
"That's Kate dancing round on the porch, and the one standing high-like, right next to the fire, with her arms up stiff, as if she was running the whole show, sort of—of—"
"A priestess, say, invocating the Goddess of Kerosene!"
"Huh?—Well, that's Sissy."