'Indeed; I'm going to the Colonel's. How far is his house from here?'
'A right smart six mile; it's at the Cross-roads. Ye know the Cunnel, du ye?'
'Oh, yes, I know him well. If his house is not more than six miles off, I think we had better go on to-night. What do you say, Scip?'
'I reckon we'd better gwo, massa,' replied the darky, who had spread my traveling-shawl in the chimney-corner, and was seated on it, drying his clothes.
'Ye'd better not,' said the woman; 'ye better stay har; thar's a right smart run twixt har and the Cunnel's, and tain't safe to cross arter dark.'
'If that is so we'd better stay, Scip; don't you think so?' I said to the darky.
'Jess as you like, massa. We got tru wid de oder one, and I reckon tain't no woss nor dat.'
'The bridge ar carried away, and ye'll have to swim shore,' said the woman. 'Ye'd better stay.'
'Thank you, madam, I think we will,' I replied, after a moment's thought; 'our horse has swum one of your creeks to-night, and I dare not try another.'
I had taken off my coat, and had been standing, during the greater part of this conversation, in my shirt-sleeves before the fire, turning round occasionally to facilitate the drying process, and taking every now and then a sip from the gourd containing our brandy and water; aided in the latter exercise by the old woman and the eldest girl, who indulged quite as freely as I did.