"I don't believe it," she exclaimed, "somebody's jest a lyin' on 'em to git 'em hung because they're niggers."
"Sh—Jane, you're excited, you ain't well; I noticed that when I first come to-night. Somebody's got to suffer fur that house-burnin', an' it might ez well be them ez anybody else. You mustn't talk so. Ef people knowed you wuz a standin' up fur niggers so, it 'ud ruin you."
He had hardly finished speaking, when the gate opened, and another man joined them.
"Hello, there, Dock Heaters, that you?" said Bud Mason.
"Yes, it's me. How are you, Jane?" said the newcomer.
"Oh, jest middlin', Dock, I ain't right well."
"Well, you might be in better business than settin' out here talkin' to Bud Mason."
"Don't know how as to that," said his rival, "seein' as we're engaged."
"You're a liar!" flashed Dock Heaters.
Bud Mason half rose, then sat down again; his triumph was sufficient without a fight. To him "liar" was a hard name to swallow without resort to blows, but he only said, his flashing eyes belying his calm tone, "Mebbe I am a liar, jest ast Jane."