"I don't know about that. Women folks goes a good many places where they hain't got no business. Ain't a runnin' away from yo' old man, air you?"
"No, I'm goin' to him."
"Huh, he run away frum you. Is that it?"
"No, they tuck him away. Air you goin' to let me ride?"
"Tuck him away for what?"
"They have accused him of makin' wild-cat licker."
"Here, give me yo' hand an' I'll help you up. Wait, I'll make the seat soft with this coat. Now we're all right. An' I've got a baked turkey leg an' some mighty fine blackberry cordial—your'n."
She thanked him, and when she had eaten and drunk, he began to apologize for his slowness in permitting her to ride with him.
"Ma'm, I didn't know but you mout be one these here women preachers. One of 'em come up into my neighborhood an' it seemed that befo' she come nature was a smilin' like she was waitin' fur her sweetheart. Well, me an' my wife went to hear her preach, an' she talked right well—never hearn a woman talk better—an' she cotch the folks. Worse than that, she cotch my wife an' turned my home into a hell, an' nature shut her eyes an' all war dark fur me. Nothin' would do my wife, but she must go out an' preach too. I begged her—told her that I loved her better than I did forty gospels, an' I did; but she would go. I told her not to come back—but one night about three months atterward, when it was a pourin' down rain, an' my little child was a cryin', there come a knock on the door, an'—an' I know'd. I opened it an' there she was an' as I was a huggin' of her, she says, 'Jeff, I b'l'eve a woman's duty is at home. Christ was a man.' Ma'm, I kin haul you all the way down there. I know where the jail is—I've been in there—an' I'll take you right straight to it."
"What did they take you there for?"