Every now and then they stopped their wrangling to shout for the lost boy.
“Bo—oob—by! You, Bo—oob—by! I got some ca—an—dy fur yer,” called Susan.
“’Andyfuryer!” came back from the next mountain.
“Thar he is!” declared Oscar.
“Thar he is much! That there is what Miss Nan calls a ego. It’s some kind er a beast I reckon what mocks folks. Sounds lak hants ter me. I done dream of trouble last night anyhow. I dream I was a gittin’ married—”
“That would sho’ be trouble to the groom,” chuckled Oscar.
“My dream book says that dreamin’ of marriage is sho sign er death. I reckon our little Bobby is dead by this time. Out here cold and starved in the mountings.”
“Well, he done et a good breakfast this mornin’ and ain’t starved yit as ’tain’t time ter dish up dinner yit. An’ if he is cold I’d lak ter know whar he done foun’ a cool spot. I sho is a sweatin’ myse’f.”
“Go ’long, you ole nigger! You ain’t got no feelin’.”
“I’s got as much feelin’ as you is but I’s got enough ter worry ’bout without makin’ up troubles. I want ter find that there Bobby an’ I feel turrible bad ’bout his a gittin’ lost but I ain’t agoin’ ter trouble my haid about his bein’ cold and hongry whin the sun is a shinin’ down on my back as hot as a mustard plarster an’ I done see the boy put away two full batches of waffles with enough scrambled eggs to feed a whole fambly. His appletite done pick up wonderful sense we been a campin’ out.”