“Whar yo’ goin’, boy?” the old man asked.
“I’m on my way!” It was a song.
The old man peered at him closely. He was nearly blind and knew his time was almost over. But he wanted to see the face of this young one who spoke so.
“Whatchu say, boy?” He spoke sharply.
“My master’s sending me over to Mr. Freeland’s place,” Frederick explained.
“Oh!” the old man said, and waited.
Frederick lowered his voice, though there was no one else in sight.
“It is close by the bay.”
The old man’s breath made a whistling sound as it escaped from the dried reeds of his throat.
“God bless yo’, boy!” Then he passed on by, driving his mule.