“It’s ole Arch’bal’ Smiff,” he declared, with lively appreciation, though in the near distance Archibald failed to look as aged as Ezekiel might have led one to expect. “Yas’m, ’tis; dat’s ole Arch’bal’ Smiff. Now, w’at dey-all doin’ ’im dat-a-way fer? Look, Miss No’th! Dey’s jes a-chasin’ ’im down de road!”
Miss North stopped a moment and glanced back at the rapidly approaching Archibald.
“They are probably just chasing him for fun, aren’t they?” she began reassuringly.
“’Tain’ no fun ter git w’ite men chasin’ after yer dat-a-way,” objected Ezekiel.
There were excited shouts from the passing, jostling runners, and Archibald turned and cast a momentary exalted, half-dramatic smile on Miss North.
“They are just in fun, you see. Come, Ezekiel, I want you to go on with me, and bring back some books that I order; will you?”
“Yas’m—yas’m, I’ll go on wid yer, Miss No’th; but look like ole w’ite men’s gwine ketch ’im, too, doan’t it?”
“Catch him? No. Why should they want to catch him?”
“Cert’nly make me think ’bout de time dey-all come a-chasin’ af’ Jonah w’en I’se ter Mis’ Simons’. An’ I reckon, ef ’tain’ been fer Mis’ Simons, dey’d ’a’ ketch ’im, too. But Mis’ Simons she jes ’ntirely dis’range dey plans.”
“How did she do that?” questioned Miss North, suddenly interested.