“‘No’m, he ain’t,’ I say, ‘cuz he ain’t, so w’at else is it I kin say? ‘No’m, he ain’t,’ I say.
“‘An’ he’s been gone long ’nough to’ve gone free times at leas’!’ she whisper un’er ’er bref. ‘Oh, w’at is I done! Jonah, Jonah, w’y doan’t yer come back!’
“‘I reckon he’ll be back right soon now,’ I say, ’cuz cert’nly make me feel bad ter see Mis’ Simons look dat-a-way. ‘Doan’t yer reckon he will?’ I say.
“But she jes shuk ’er haid awful sad ’n’ slow-like.
“‘I’se ’fraid—I’se ’fraid sump’n’s ’appen to ’im, ’Zekiel,’ she answer. ‘I—I sent ’im de ve’y place—where it’s awful trouble—gwine on ter-day! I sent ’im, ’Zekiel, ’thout—’thout ’memberin’ w’at I knowed!’
“Well, I ain’t r’ally know ’ow ter answer ’er dat time, so I jes didn’ make no ’sponse ’tall.
“‘Come,’ she say, ‘we mus’ go in de house, ’Zekiel; it’s gittin’ dark.’
“It seem awful long after we’s in de house, an’ praesen’ly, it’s sech a warm evenin’, Mis’ Simons went out on de po’ch. But she mus’ ’a’ feel kine o’ strange ’n’ lonesome, too, ’cuz praesen’ly she ax Sarah ’n’ Marg’ret won’t dey come out ’n’ set dere fer a li’l’ w’ile.
“‘It’s time fer you ter go ter baid, ain’t it, ’Zekiel?’ she say; an’ I jes start ter tell ’er, ‘No’m, I doan’ reckon ’tis,’ w’en it come de stranges’ noise out dere in de yard. Look like somebody’s runnin’ ser fas’ he cyan’t sca’cely breve, an’ all time comin’ right ’long fru de grass todes de steps.
“‘Mis’ Simons, Mis’ Simons!’ somebody whisper, awful hoarse an’ strange-like. An’ w’at yer s’pose? W’y, it’s jes Jo-nah, a-tearin’ right ’long up de steps!