"Hillo!" said Lee.
The old fellow started as if he had been shot and peered about until he saw the boat.
"Hillo, sah! hillo!" he answered, and then paddled nearer. "Now I can't say as I rightly knows you, sah; an' I knows most everybody round here. Duck-shootin' maybe? Is you one o' de Talbots?"
"No; I'm not duck-shooting, and I'm not one of the Talbots."
"What you doin' out here in de cold mornin', den, boy? Dat boat come from some wessel, I see. An' dear knows it would be quare if you was a Talbot, an' I didn't know you. I belonged to old man Talbot onst."
"No, no, old man! I tell you I'm no Talbot. I've run away from a schooner above here, and I want to get to Plymouth."
"Laws a massy! Why, I runned away myself, afore de wah. Was fo' year in de Dismal Swamp, an' had a good time dere, too, honey. We had plenty o' possum an' chickens an' corn-meal toted by colored folks we knowed, an' put whar we could find it. An' we had sweet potatoes, an' simlins, an' water-millions, an' berries, an' grapes, an' wild plums, an' wild hogs, an' fish. Don't know as ever I'd 'a come out ef it hadn't 'a be'n de wah freed de slaves, an' I wanted to see de ole place."
By this time the old negro was alongside, and took out a cob-pipe, filled it, struck a light, and settled himself for a good talk, first telling Lee that he was going fishing, at which he made his living.
Before he could begin talking again, Lee asked him in what direction he ought to go to reach Plymouth.
"Why, honey, I'se a-goin' right dat way. My place for fishin' lays right in dat direction. You come along o' me."