By this time what little doubt I might have entertained of my poor friend's insanity was put finally at rest. I had no alternative but to conclude him stricken with lunacy, and I became seriously anxious about getting him home. While I was pondering upon what was best to be done, Jupiter's voice was again heard.
"Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far—'tis dead limb putty much all de way."
"Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand in a quivering voice.
"Yes, massa; him dead as de door-nail; done up for sartain; done departed dis here life."
"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in the greatest distress.
"Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, "why, come home and go to bed. Come, now, that's a fine fellow! It's getting late, and, besides, you remember your promise."
"Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you hear me?"
"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain."
"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think it is very rotten."
"Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a few moments; "but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur out leetle way pon de limb by myself, dat's true."